The battle for my front garden
Dirt grinds between my fingertips. It has already caked itself onto the pads and fingernails, pushed up what was left of cuticles. I could wear gloves. But I don’t. There’s something more satisfying about doing this without.
Rays of hard sunlight beam down as I work my way through the garden at a slow but steady pace. I welcome the warmth, though it does hinder me in its own way. It was easier when I started this task a few days ago, when the ground was more malleable, more forgiving to my attempted alterations. But now it is dry, baked in the heat of a week of summer-esque weather. Ah well. The hoe in hand still does the job, albeit with somewhat greater effort required on my behalf.
There is little finesse in the weeding. It’s hardly required, once again due to my own negligence. By last September, I had grown weary of the constant maintenance required to keep the undesirable plant life from expanding their borders into the garden. The plant life had not. They had been more than happy to take up residence in the absence of my watch. They also were seemingly unbothered by the chill of winter, returning only stronger once the snow had faded.
Still, they fall to my rebuilt diligence. For while they rested in those winter months, so too had I. With will reborn, I set to the task of ridding the garden once more of the undesired greenery. As stated before, the sheer abundance of it means that subtlety is not required. Hacking away at it with the hoe before parsing out the individual weeds will do for now. Will some smaller plants escape this initial culling due to the broad strokes? Perhaps, but it’s the only path of attack left to me at this point. For my sanity’s sake, I need to see at least some progress being made. The survivors will have to be dealt with later. Besides, other weeds would likely come to take their place anyway, so what’s the real difference in the end?
It is working. Slowly but surely, I pick away at the multitude of weeds. I briefly ponder how clumps of grass have made it into the garden. I think about it for maybe too long, wonder how exactly the seeds would have managed to not only make it there, but found enough purchase to hold their ground. Seems like they lack the same fortitude and go-getting attitude when I want them to grow in a bald spot on the lawn. Perhaps these clumps of grass could provide motivational speeches to those seedlings being pushed out by dandelions and the like, share with them the experience of their great perseverance in the jungle of the garden. Seems unlikely. The grass clods join the rest of the lot in the bucket. The family of robins that have taken up in the crook of the lamp by our door stares down at me as I work. Mom or Dad keeps a steady, appraising eye on my movements as they sit on the nest, protecting the three chicks beneath. The other, meanwhile, occasionally tweets from the lawn, some sort of insect or worm clung in their beak. I, of course, mean no harm, and I feel a bit bad about disturbing their afternoon, but communication between bird and man is difficult. But I’ve given them enough grace by allowing them temporary accommodations without rent, I think, so dealing with my milling around in the nearby garden is a small price to pay, I think.
The musings of Cage the Elephant, Weezer and Djo serves as the soundtrack to the great battle unfolding between myself and the endless waves of weeds. The lyrics give my mind something more to chew upon, a distraction from the nature of the skirmish.
Just as the playlist is about to rollover, finally, the day is won. Or at least, as close as it is going to be. The weeds have been pushed back, the weird gross fuzzy leafed plants that were placed their intentionally by a previous owner finally removed after two years. A feeling of satisfaction settles as I look over the cleared battlefield, doused in the oranges of a late afternoon sun. I bask in it for a moment, content with the work done and the fact that it feels like summer has finally arrived.
A C ERTAIN POINT OF V IEW
BY
NATHANIEL U NDERWOOD REPORTER
