Weeding

I love 67* evenings with a gently blowing breeze keeping the bloodsuckers at bay and damp ground from Spring rains.

It makes weeding easier.

And we have a lot of weeding needing accomplished. Five acres with several 40+ yr old flower beds in great need of revitalization; a blueberry patch in desperate need of more mulch; a field eaten up with dandelions - OH THE DANDELIONS! I've spent two entire days and several 5 gallon sprayers full of nasty herbicide spot spraying only to have them come back again with a vengeance (I swear they are being planted by my neighbor's and their children)!

The very welcome rains halted progress on my daughter's butterfly garden (Stage 1). It's 24' x 7' at the fenceline between the front yard and the (apparently, very) future blueberry orchard. So this evening we were hard at work with the cultivators, shovels, mattock, and bare hands. I love the feel of dirt seeping into my pores and getting lodged under my fingernails. I always find some small particle still clinging to the underside of them the next day while I'm on hold at the office.

The boys were busy trenching a border and cutting the back yard. I still don't understand my youngest son's aversion to cutting the grass - I mean, he even has a self-propelled "push" mower. Of course, this was his year to use the lawn tractor until he & his older brother revived the family tradition of killing anything with a "small" engine. Two motors in two years, so I'm making them sweat a little while I bide my time finding a lawn tractor or three that I don't care if they destroy or ride into the pond on a dare.

I got a phone call from a friend searching for some electronic equipment that may or may not be stashed away somewhere in the dungeon we call a basement at the church. So, I started weeding the front yard. It's not as though I could swing a mattock and talk on the phone at the same time, so I just started pulling weeds. Grassy weeds, sedges, broadleafs (dandelions are my archnemesis with this yard - see rant above), and anything else that isn't St. Augustine or Bermuda grass.

And I discovered something.

It takes no thought whatsoever.

My hands just know the difference between turfgrass and weeds. I can weed the yard with my eyes closed. Or my brain concentrating on where the heck we stashed the speakers, mixing board, mics and wiring for the PA system that hasn't been used for about 10 yrs at church.

I can weed the yard even when it's dark and my mind has wandered and wondered over all sorts of other subjects and the kids are getting ready for bed, and the dogs are out of the pond (chocolate lab is the prime troublemaker - youngest son's dog and my wife's archnemesis!).

I can weed the yard while I contemplate when and how to repair the roof(s) on the workshop, the garage, and the stable; while I ponder if I have any Maker's Mark still in my fishing flask (no, damnit!); while I wonder if my wife is still watching baseball or if she'll come looking for me and declare me as crazy as the day she married me; and any other number of things that scamper through my thoughts.

I think I should spend more time just sitting in the front yard yanking handfuls of problematic little things out of my life more often.

I think I will.

So, if you happen to be riding out through the South Carolina countryside some Springtime evening and see a little bucolic scene with some foolish looking fella ripping things out of his yard by the handful, with his eyes wide closed and a great big grin on his face, you'll know it's me.