Us vs. The Weeds

OK.  So I am out there for the annual (get that?) weeding of the patch of land God gave us to manage.  First off, you should probably know (and can probably tell from the intro), that we’re not scoring real high marks with the big guy in that department!

But weeding affords you a lot of time to think on things.  Like….what the heck am I doing out here in the hot sun digging in this dirt?  Gardener-types, like my wife Ruth, enjoy ‘the process’.  Not me.  I am into the end result.  I want those bugger weeds killed, maimed, hashed, and beaten down.

Which bring us to point #1.  I go to the locker to grab the RoundUp and Ruth asks “What are you doing?”  Uh-oh.  Busted.  The only time I can get away using this stuff is when she isn’t looking or is gone.  So I put the Agent Orange back on the shelf and reduce myself to the unwelcome knowledge that our ‘annual weeding party’ is going organic!

Now I am the primary weeder in our household.  The girl points at a patch of weeds and says to me “Sick, boy!” and I go after them like a rabid dog in full pant.  But if I had my druthers, I’d get the RoundUp and a cold frosty to take care of the situation!  Not today.

So I am out there in my weed patch — just the weed patch and I…communing — and I am thinking “how come all the grass has weeds in it and all of the plants have grass in them?  It looks to me like they are all friends and want to be together.  So what’s the big deal?  Let’s just anarchy/chaos rule and get back to the cold frosty!  Not today.

This is the ‘annual weeding party’.  See, what we do is call a truce on the weeds for 364 days a year.  We are generally peace-loving mongers and so it is with great pride and humility and we exert our loving force on that little postage stamp God gave us to manage.

But once a year — one day a year — we rip off the gloves, bring out the artillery, and really feel what it is like to get it on!!  Take no survivors!  If I’m going down then I am taking all of those friggin’ weeds with me!!

And so it was I went down.  About 5:30 at night.  Ran out of gas.  The weeds won…sort of.  I got my little patch of terra firma that is weed-free and will be for 2 more weeks before the Johnson grass takes over again.  I am looking at that barren soil — that small, Northwest desert — wondering “So what did I gain?”

Guess I’ll run up the white flag on the weeds for another year!!!

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