There’s nothing more satisfying. Well, unless it’s a grilled cheese sandwich or mashed potatoes with butter. But digging in the dirt was the way I spent several hours this morning. I was pulling up the violets from my, well, it turns out, Violet Garden. I didn’t plan on having a Violet Garden, and I don’t intend to have one. It just appeared, and now, it is mostly gone. At least for now.
Don’t get me wrong. I love violets. They are my “if I were a flower, I would be” flower. It’s just that I love other flowers, too. And I have found that violets are very possessive, and they want to be my only flower. Those rhizomes just keep creeping and growing and sprouting. Anyway, in order to have Black-eyed Susans and purple Coneflowers throughout the summer, I had to pull up the carpet of violets which has overtaken the flowerbed along my driveway.
It was a peaceful few hours. My little dog, Hattie, snapped at the carpenter bees. She made me laugh, her snapping clicking like those joke false teeth you wind up and let clack across the table. Mr. Beedle Weedleman, orange cat extraordinaire, came along to “help” by lying right in front of me and grabbing at my hand as I dug, yanked, and tossed.
When I dig in the dirt, I can free-think. I can feel the sun and the breeze, and I can see what I have accomplished and what I still have yet, to do. So, as I sat on the concrete driveway, and scooted along building piles of dirt and weeds, I felt about as fulfilled as was possible.
Now, I think I’ll move on to the kitchen. Grilled cheese? Mashed potatoes? It’s a hard choice.