First You Decide, Then You Move

Pathbefore

Weeds are pesky things. Maybe once upon a year you liked them, actually spent money acquiring them then spent time planting and tending them. But comes a day when you realize they are more invasive than pleasing, that they have spread and are now growing and blooming where you don’t want them to grow and bloom. They are taking up too much space on your path.

That’s when it’s time to pluck them out . . .

Borders had been installed at the very beginning, but the weeds had long ago ignored the boundaries, going over and under as they pleased, determinedly oblivious to my growing discontent, so yesterday was weed-pulling day. Many were not happy to leave. Their roots had spread deep and wide over time, taking strong hold to that part of my path. They were apparently quite comfortable and vehemently protested the change. Tools were required to assist in the removal of the most obstinate weeds, and quite often when the weed did finally let go, it came out with great clumps of dirt that went into my shoes, my shirt, my eyes, my hair. It was not a pretty sight.

It was tough, time-consuming work. Fingernails were blackened and broken. Before long, my back hurt and neck and legs ached so badly, I considered throwing in the towel and going to find something to do that was more fun and less arduous, just leaving them be. After all, I could still technically step around them.

Otto2

Otto, my granddog, provided company and stood as witness – sometimes enjoying the sun,

Ottostands2

sometimes standing right where I needed him not to stand,

Ottodigs2

sometimes doing a little digging himself. There was an important difference, though: Otto simply moved what he pulled up, burying it in a new spot in the yard.

Compost

What I pulled up went into the compost bin to be recycled into something new and useful and nourishing. I suppose you could say that it will eventually go into another spot in the yard, too, but you get my drift.

Cleared

Yeah, I’ve had days that were more fun, but by bedtime, the path was cleared, and I could once again see the stepping stones and imagine where they might lead me. You know what I mean?

4 Comments

  1. Merry ME

    Beautiful. It made me think of the whole cloth quilt I made for my SIL. A queen-sized piece of white fabric with a design stamped in blue. talk about daunting. But once started, it was hard NOT to stay with it. ANd then one day, several months later, it was finished. Beauty and satisfaction go hand in hand. Thankfully, I’ve never felt compelled to attempt something like that again.

    • whollyjeanne

      Sugar, I’m glad you had that experience and the resulting satisfaction . . . and I’m glad you’ve come to your senses and vowed publicly “never again.”

  2. Jane Cunningham

    you are good with those metaphors woman <3

    • whollyjeanne

      thank you, sugar. i have friends who promise that they will not let Them pull the plug on me based on those silly, ridiculously inane neurologists’ questions about what day it is and what year it is – things nobody in a hospital knows because time stops there. they’ve promised instead to keep me plugged in until i can’t make a metaphor. then they’ll know i’m really gone. xo

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