Call me crazy, but I like to weed. On my own terms, but still…
A fine crop of weeds had grown up thanks to a fair amount of rain while I was in Wisconsin. So the other evening, I pulled my camp stool out from under the house, and I got my weed digging tool, and I started in on the weeds that I had actually mowed earlier in the day. They were thriving between the flagstones of my front path.
Okay, so perfect weeding conditions: clear and sunny, a nice breeze, temps hovering mid-seventies, ground nice and soaked, but not muddy. I had nearly all of those requirements met, and I got going.
Weeding is a mindless task. It is quiet, except for the sounds of Mother Nature, and maybe a car or two passing by. It is a job that demonstrates clearly the worker’s accomplishment.
It is an accomplishment that lasts, unlike dusting or making a meal. The dust reappears almost within minutes. The meal that took an hour or more to make is gone in twenty minutes, with a pile of dishes, pots and pans, and utensils left to be dealt with. Weeding lasts, well, at least a week.
I like to think when I weed. I think of all kinds of things…what materials to use with my tutoring kid, what my folks at the farm might be doing at that moment, upcoming visits from friends, what to wear tomorrow, what to eat for supper.
I weeded my front flagstone path. I had most of my perfect conditions. I could see clear results. Call me crazy, but I like to weed.
(The green that remains is actually sedum, which I WANT to grow between the flags.)