I’ve been taking advantage of the cool weather by working in the jungle that is hiding my back yard.
I rather like the jungle in the spring – full of promise, arrogant green, the beginnings of something.
But then the bittersweet becomes very pushy, and the weeds careless, and the jungle is suddenly an unruly burden. By then, the bugs are voracious and the weather far too hot to do anything about it. Mr. P and I have decided that this is the year we are going to get our yard back.
This evening, sticking to my work-in-a-clockwise-direction-a-bit-at-a-time plan, I freed the peony from the crabgrass, whispered sweet nothings to my hydrangea that is clinging to life, cleared a path for my oxeye sunflowers to reach for the sky, and mulched in hopes I never have to weed again. Ever.
I worked until twilight, accompanied by a cheerful robin perched high above my head.
It was lovely.
They know, they just know where to grow, how to dupe you, and how to camouflage themselves among the perfectly respectable plants, they just know, and therefore, I’ve concluded weeds must have brains. ~Dianne Benson, Dirt, 1994