A Meditation on Weeding
We last visited Sue and John’s garden earlier this spring, when their planting had first begun. In this guest post, Sue waxes poetic about weeding and her love of those intrepid volunteer vegetables she discovers each summer.
It’s the middle of the summer and I just finished a huge weeding session in our garden. I love weeding and although I’ve heard people refer to it as tedious, boring, hard work (sadly these people include my two sons), for me the results far outweigh the supposed gruel of it all.
Weeding brings back balance, gives me a sense of order in the chaos and shows off the beauty of the soil. It helps me to untangle plants from each other while it helps me to untangle my mind.
When I start to weed, the minutes turn into hours. I weed and plan and untangle and move plants. The structure of my garden comes back and the lack of structure that always seems to be present in my life fades into the distance for a little while.
It’s a meditation – it gives me appreciation for my house, my plot and even for myself. It slows down time and makes me into a detailed-oriented person (an attribute that I don’t really have in the rest of my life).
Last weekend, down on the ground, puttering for hours with no rhyme or reason, I started to look and count the many volunteers that came back from last year. We started our little seeds indoors in March and while those plants are thriving, the ones that are nearest and dearest to my heart are the volunteers. I discovered a beautiful baby butternut squash, 2 white pumpkins who now seem to be growing leaps and bounds every day, lemon cucumbers, and an acorn squash. Growing in our fern by the back gate are small yellow tomatoes and there is even a fuzzy, small watermelon that just popped up yesterday.
My volunteers are survivors. They let go of the diversity from fading in the heat of last summer and they decided to come back stronger and better than ever. My little survivors have my appreciation and awe.
They have risen above the din, the morning glories that attempted to strangle them, and the occasional lack of water, so that they could shine and be eaten and I love them for that.
The volunteers are the prizes that I get from the so called tedious, boring work that no one else really wants to do.
PS. I’m looking forward to the crazy heirloom carrots that I recently planted. Have you ever had a black carrot?
Questions for Sue? You can reach her on her The Natural Source FaceBook page and Instagram at @thenaturalsource.