I surprised myself tthe other day: I weeded the garden.
There I was, jabbing away with the hand rake with one hand and yanking at the stubborn dandelion roots with the other. Suddenly, the dirt gave away and out came the chunky white root - still wrapped with dark, moist soil. The top part didn't tear, the sticky sap didn't get all over my fingers, and it only took me one try. I felt very accomplished.
While that might signify the banality of my weekend life, those who know me will understand the irony about this picture: me in the garden. That's because I have a reputable black thumb. Every office plant my husband buys me seem to wither or yellow, no matter how regularly (I think) I water them or move them around the office. It's never the right thing for the plant. The bamboo turned yellow. My jungle plant got moldy from coffee grinds. And that jade plant wrinkled up like prunes. So the fact that I am actually working on my garden? Right.
On the other hand, weeding makes perfect sense. I am uprooting, tearing apart, and destroying this unwanted plant. I'm great at that! I don't have to feel defeated, like when my seeds didn't sprout last spring, or feel incompetent when my seedlings died from the first frost. With weeding, my sole goal was to clear these pesky growths out of the way. And the satisfaction was instant. Out, weed, out!
These days, accomplishments don't seem to come too often, unless you count remembering to turn off the coffee pot or separating the whites. Some days I can't even manage that. At work, we have cases that go on and on and on. And even when there are victories, one side goes home defeated. And at the house, DIY projects - and there are many of them - seem to always drag on. (Um, honey, are are going to ever have more than one bathroom to use?) You can see why I'm always on the lookout for little things to count towards my daily list of accomplishments. My self-confidence needs it badly.
So, I weeded.
Every full root that came up made me feel strangely successful. I felt oddly relaxed as I cleared the mounds and fluffed the dirt around it. I breathed deeply the cool air, warmer than that of the day before, and I plunged away again. I speared the trowel into the dirt around the prickly weed and pumped the handle up and down to loosen the earth. I grabbed the entire trunk of the unwielding plant and shook it about before giving it a final tug. If I hadn't been so relaxed by weeding, I might have let out a maniacal cackle at this little accomplishment. I am gardening!
Perhaps the nicest part about weeding? I feel I can't go wrong. Even if they grow back, I can re-weed. I'm not responsible for its happiness. I don't have to worry about its future. I don't have to ensure that I am nurturing a polite, responsible, well-adjusted and balanced plant. And it certainly won't require me to lock in future college tuition rates.
So there. Some can have shopping. I shall have weeding.
by Julie Chen Allen
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