Weed patrol
One of the chores we used to moan and groan about as kids on the farm was weeding the garden. It was regarded as a form of penal servitude.
The odd twist is that when we later became property owners the first thing I and my siblings did was plant a garden and re-commence weeding. Perhaps it was fond memories of peas, carrots, kohlrabi and other vegetables that could be picked and eaten on the spot. We even ate the occasional raw potato.
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There’s a certain satisfaction to be had from green thumbery. A mass of ripening tomatoes is an impressive sight and testimony that the gardener has demonstrated a bit of skill in matters horticultural.
However, one cannot crow too loudly if there is an equally lush growth of wild portulaca, pigweed, quack grass, buckwheat and lamb’s quarter. Hence the need to get at the weed plucking early and often.
If you haven’t dirty fingernails and an aching back you can’t really claim to your magna cum laude in weeding.
The only way to deal with chickweed is to get down to its level. That means a rump-up, head-down, hands-and-knees approach. Portulaca has to be removed so carefully that not even a leaf is allowed to stay behind to rekindle the infestation. It can be beaten but it takes years of fussing.
Gardening isn’t as dignified as it is presented in the nursery catalogues. Those models in their designer jeans wouldn’t know a zucchini from a monkey wrench.
Dirty knees, dirty elbows, mosquito bites, sunburn, all are the badges of the dedicated gardener.
And a self-satisfied smirk.
