Of the 250,000 species of plants worldwide, only about 3% behave as weeds. But that 3% consists of the most prolific, productive, and insistent plants, gifted with survival instincts that defy reason. I am coming to the conclusion that weeding is a losing battle.
When I was first widowed, over fifteen years ago, I took to gardening and landscaping with a vengeance. It was how I grieved. My husband had been the gardener; I'd focused on other talents in our household. On a winter's day in a deep and dark December, Pete left this crazy garden for some weedless other-worldly plane. All winter long, I plied the fire with kindling and sorted through the ashes of a marriage and a family in an attempt to resurrect a life. By spring, I was resolute.
I studied those garden beds and realized that I had a thing or two to learn. Depending on the wisdom of gardening friends and trusting in a trial-and-error method, I began my gardening obsession. Once I had command of the vegetable gardens, I turned my eye toward perennials. I created landscape masterpieces out of coreopsis, yarrow, salvia, sedum, coneflower, phlox, coral bells, vinca, pachysandra, and thyme. Just saying their names gave me some satisfaction within the confines of my loneliness.
I demo'd the in-ground pool and built raised-bed gardens in its place. I constructed a greenhouse. I had tons of black dirt delivered and scoured the cornfields across the street for fieldstone. I built border walls. I designated herb gardens and lily gardens and black-eyed Susan gardens. I was obsessed.
And I weeded. I dug up wild rose roots, a veritable subway of gnarly underground chaos. I sprayed a mixture of vinegar and Dawn on the persistent weeds working their way through the pebbled pathways. And I hand-picked the weeds from my vegetable gardens. I was vigilant.
I entered a gardening contest. I won for "Most Creative Garden." I was a gardener.
And then, a dozen years later, my life took some happy twists and turns, and gardening became somewhat of a side interest. I still put my time in, but my passion was not as great as it had been. And the weeds took note. They conspired against me. If I wasn't going to dedicate my time and energy to growing things, the weeds were going to punish me with enhanced productivity.
And that's where we are today. My perennial gardens are suffering, choked by uninvited guests, including poison ivy. Sedum and stonecrop have reigned supreme, killing off their enemies and annexing other garden plots. That wildflower garden that I planted with seeds from Vermont? I can't even find it anymore. It's hiding underneath some crazy Dr. Seuss-inspired giants.
The weeds are winning.
There's a metaphor here. Don't make me explain it to you.
I feel your pain. But there is something inherently pleasing about pulling weeds. Especially, mugwort with its six foot long roots and Curly Dock with its 4' long carrot-like taproot.
ReplyDeleteI do admit to getting into a Zen zone at times while weeding.
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