A Matter of Perspective: Weeds

Someone once explained to me that a weed was just a plant that was growing where someone didn’t think it should be growing.  Once Mother Nature finally gave up her grasp of winter the growing season began to hit full stride.  Everything imaginable is blooming and spreading . . . like crazy.  Here in Montana, at least in our area, we are in the midst of a growing spurt that has everything green.  Mother Nature hasn’t hit her hot flash stage yet.

I can’t keep up . . . especially with those misplaced plants that are determined to be weeds.  They are beginning to win the battle.  It is driving me crazy.  I hate to lose.

 

It started with dandelions.  I love the bright, cheerful yellow of dandelions . . . especially on a lush green carpet of grass.  It is pretty.  I also love it when they transform into little puff balls ready to spread their cheer across the rest of the lawn.  Besides their beauty they are environmentally friendly as they keep the bees happy.  Dandelions make the wife happy and that is a good thing.  On the other hand, the neighbors cry “foul”.  Foul because where I see a flower, they see a weed.

 

What is one to do?

 

I’d like to keep my wife happy.  A happy wife makes my life easier.  After all, I must live with my wife.  The neighbors only see the potential spread of a weed.  A weed that could invade their yards.  Seeing my yard, they are grumpy.  They want them all gone before the puffy whiteness rides the wind to freedom and greener pastures.

 

For this reason, I am selective in removing dandelions from the yard.  I imagine that there must be at least fifteen generations of dandelions populating the yard.  By mid-June they have been eradicated.  I pull them.  I weed whack them.  I kick them.  Crush them with rocks.  Curse them.  Despite my half-hearted best efforts . . . they still sneak in, bloom, and spread their progeny.  Varying day-to-day, someone is happy.  Someone is angry.

 

Now this is what I believe . . . if God didn’t want weeds, God wouldn’t put them where people didn’t want them.  Same with grass.  If God wanted grass to be uniformly two inches tall, God would make grass stop growing at two inches.  Same with snow in the winter.  If God didn’t want snow covering everything. God would only put the snow where God wanted the snow.  It’s a theological thing.  A test of faith.  God’s will.  Who am I to go against God’s will?

 

My neighbors are godless heathens who demand that I go against my beliefs and God’s will . . . they want the offensive invaders gone!

 

I must confess, I am a typical human in that I pick and choose when and where to practice my faith.  We all do.  But it is especially true for me when it comes to weeds.  Take for example our fire pit.  It is a gravel area next to a row of lilac bushes.  When completing the fire pit area I dug six inches down into the ground, spread a clothe like material to keep weeds out across it, sprayed it heavily with weed killer, and then dumped six inches of gravel over it all.  The result?  A really nice place where family and friends gather around a roaring fire for fellowship and s’mores . . . and a gathering of weeds!  Not only weeds but invasive lilac sprouts popping up like a checkerboard in the gravel.  For being faithless and wanting a weed-free fire pit, my penance is to crawl around the gravel on my knees removing the offenders.  I imagine God just smiles while pointing out the ones that I have missed.

 

Weeds are sneaky little (and big) boogers.  They rise to any and every challenge to taunt me whenever and wherever they can.  Cracks in the sidewalk.  In the flower beds.  On the driveway.  Under the deck.  Even under the bird feeders.  Under the bird feeders is its own hellacious challenge.

 

Under the bird feeders there grow thistles and other unidentifiable seeds that make up the daily buffet for our avian friends.  But it is the sunflowers that are growing that are the biggest test of my patience.  Ooooo . . . sunflowers!  They are so pretty.  Yes, they are . . . but not growing all over the lawn.  Luckily, I can keep them mowed.  By September there will be a cheap imitation of a Monet painting, but it will be the yard.

 

At this point in the summer, it is an even battle.  The score is zero to zero.  But it won’t last long.  The cottonwood seeds are floating in the air.  Mother Nature has turned up the heat to speed up the growing season.  The weeds have called up reinforcements.  Once sneaky, they are now bold.  Popping up everywhere.  They are beginning to sustain a drive towards victory and domination.  I can barely catch my breath.  I’m thinking about becoming faithful once again and letting them win.  Back to nature stuff.  At least the grass looks green . . . from a distance anyways.  Image is what counts . . . image is what matters.  Plus, God will quit snickering at me as I return to the fold.  The problem is the weeds or plants that are out of place—it is not them; it is me.  My perspective.  Maybe I am the one who is not where I am supposed to be.

 

It is something to consider.  After all, all God’s critters (and plants) have a place in the choir.  Weeds are in the eyes of the beholder.  Yeah, I know . . . my neighbors don’t buy it.  Oh well . . .

 

Annua Sacrificium

Damn!

It never fails.  Each year springtime sneaks into Montana amid the stubborn exit of winter.  I see the signs all around . . . trees leafing out . . . bulbs sprouting . . . flowering buds . . . green . . . and the wife making her annual trip to the greenhouse to purchase our annual sacrifice to the gods of nature.  In a week that we have seen temperatures ranging from below freezing with snow to the upper 60s . . . spring is exerting itself in the face of the stubborn winter that does not want to leave.  As usual, I am not ready . . . I am already losing the battle.

Despite the fact that we have now lived in Montana almost six years, the wife still practices the “annua sacrificium” or “annual sacrifice” of the potted flowers.  Every year with the first whiff of warm air, the wife is off to the local greenhouse to purchase flowers to be potted and placed in the yard.  It is our annual sacrifice to the gardening gods . . . about fifty bucks worth of flowers every year.  Every year the wife runs out, purchases a boat load of flowers to pot, and then places them around the yard.  Every year it snows within two days of the flowers being placed in the yard.  Every year the flowers take a beating . . . die . . . and we start all over again.  The second time is always the charm.  But, as I stated, it is usually about fifty dollars worth of flowers that take the hit.

It is blackmail, plain and simple.  Whoever these gardening gods are, they have quite a racket going on.  I just wish they would set up a Swiss bank account somewhere, send a ransom note stating they will kill our flowers if we do not send a check for fifty dollars to them.  Sadly, they won’t do it . . . the wife is left to guess.  Since moving to Montana I have come to accept that I will make an annual donation to the gardening gods so that the rest of the Montana warm weather will allow our flowers to grow.  Though it pains my wallet I have come to accept the fact that it keeps the wife happy to make this annual sacrifice . . . as we all know, if Mama is happy everyone else is happy.  I like a happy home.

At the end of the mowing season last fall, I swore I was going to get the lawn mower ready for the next mowing season . . . tuned up, blades sharpened, the usual manly stuff.  Well, the yard has been mowed once . . . with a sputtering mower and a dull blade.  How dull is the blade?  To be honest it wouldn’t cut butter much less mow over stubborn grass . . . basically it knock it over.  With my mower you have to sneak up on the lawn.  First you go in one direction, then quickly turn around to catch the grass off guard before doing it a third time.  Usually it looks good for a day or two, but then the unevenness of the grass boldly exerts itself. 

Now I have been swearing this tuning up of the mower for . . . oh say, almost five years.  Every year the yard gets ahead of me . . . I panic . . . gas up the mower—dull blade and all . . . and, I start mowing.  The yard is always one up on me.  I beat the grass into submission.  I have tried cursing the grass, but God is not listening to the prayer . . . no, I think God is having a great chuckle at my expense.

I believe that lawn care . . . especially mowing the lawn . . . is sacrilegious . . . that it goes against what God desires.  If God is all powerful . . . all controlling . . . and wants grass to be a nice level two inches tall; well, then, I think God would have made grass stop growing once it reached two inches in height.  Grass does not stop growing at two inches . . . that expectation comes from the neighbors and the town.  They frown on me letting my lawn grow as God would desire it to grow . . . threaten me with fines if I do not mow my yard.  Hell will be filled with these dogmatic lawn worshippers.  It would be nice if God would send down some horticulturalist with a stone tablet declaring that grass is free to grow . . . but, I guess God had enough of stone tablets after Moses brought down the first set.

Despite the choppiness of the grass, the neighbors and town has to admit that everything is green . . . well, mostly green.  There are those spots in the yard where yellow is making a concerted effort to make it presence known.  Yellow . . . always beautiful against a deep green.  Yellow . . . always the color of dandelions.  It is not even mid-May yet and those little boogers are already making their presence known.  How in the world there is even one dandelion in the yard I cannot understand.  I dug them up . . . ripped them out . . . sprayed them . . . cursed them . . . flipped them off . . . even begged them all last summer to the point that I thought I had finally gotten rid of them when the first snow came.  But . . . NO!  No, they just hid under the snow and waited . . . waited until the grass turned green and made their appearance with a vengeance. 

If it were not for the neighbors . . . the town . . . or what the horticulturalist gurus espouse, I’d let them go.  Take a look at the picture above . . . beautiful isn’t it?  But they are dandelions . . . dreaded and cursed dandelions!  Dandelions are a pretty flower . . . even when they go to seed.  I cannot wait until I have the opportunity to teach the granddaughter how to blow the seeds off of dandelions . . . she will love it.  We will rejoice in the joy of the experience . . . especially as I teach her to blow them towards the neighbors’ yards.  They should experience the joy we are experiencing.

Dandelions are not the only weeds overtaking the yard.  There are other weeds.  I always tell folks that I just mow them down because without them . . . well, without them I have no yard. 

This evening I sat on the deck, a light mist falling from the sky, watching for birds.  I surveyed the yard . . . a bright green . . . spring was definitely springing.  The yard was uneven.  There were yellow patches here and there.  I saw plants where there shouldn’t have been plants.  A pang hit my stomach . . . damn, I am already losing . . . the weeds are going to kick my butt.  For a moment I cursed the gardening and lawn care gods with their dogmatic expectations of perfection.  I cursed my inability to control the acts of nature running rampant across the lawn.  I felt like a failure.

At least at first . . . but then I thought, who cares?  After the sacrifice, the flowers will grow.  After the mower knocks the grass down, it will sprout back up.  After the dandelions are picked and blown, they will come back and add color to the deepest green.  The weeds will grow back.  The yard will begin to look like the scenery I see while driving around in the wilderness of Montana . . . beautiful.  God’s handiwork is always beautiful.  Let it grow . . . let it thrive . . . if God wanted it any other way, God would have landscaped it for us.  I relax and accept the fact that whatever I do is good enough for God . . . the neighbors and town, well I guess I could refer them to God.  Let God deal with them.

In the meantime, I am going to relax.  The granddaughter and I are going to have a blast this summer.  Nothing beats blowing the seeds off of a dandelion . . . especially when sharing with the neighbors.  Everyone ought to have a little of God’s handiwork in their yard.  After all, weren’t we all taught to share in kindergarten?  I think so . . .

As we enter into the period of time known as “annua sacrificium” let us rejoice in the power of our sacrifice . . . let us rejoice in the fact that nature is going to do whatever nature wants to do . . . and, despite our best efforts to ruin it all, it still turns out beautiful.  I get over the fifty dollar hit . . . always do.  May the gardening god appreciate the sacrifice . . . now bring on the onslaught!

Dandelions, Yard Work, and Lamenting

The rain finally stopped Wednesday afternoon.  Yesterday I finally got to mow the lawn for the first time since last autumn--it needed it.  So, yesterday and today was a day for yard work.  My favorite thing in the whole wide world--yeah, right!

As I was mowing the yard, I noticed that there sure were a lot of weeds and dandelions.  Which made me come to the conclusion that if it were not for the weeds and the dandelions I would have no yard to mow at all.  For that reason alone I need to be thankful for both.  Once you cut the heads off the dandelions no one can tell whether or not it is grass or weeds.  For that I am thankful.

A weed, which a dandelion is classified for most people, is just a plant that happens to be in the wrong place. I have a lot of plants that happen to be out of place.  It does not bother me as much as it seems to bother the rest of the neighborhood.  I think that the dandelion has a pretty flower and looks wonderful against the green grass.  My neighbors think otherwise, and because I want to be a good neighbor I have to take the attitude that dandelions are a nuisance and must be destroyed.

Thus it was that I started the yard work yesterday with a vengeance.  First, I mowed.  This takes a while to do--despite having a very small yard--because Maddie the Boxer wants to play Frisbee.  Every ten to fifteen steps I get to stop and throw the Frisbee.  Makes for a longer task, but it sure make her happy.  So, I mowed.  Then I got out the weed spray and began spraying.  Last year I took Round-up to the dandelions and made a major mess to my yard that I am still paying for this year.  My neighbors thought that I had some sort of blight in the yard, but it was just my stupidity.  My expectation was that today the weeds would be dead, but they just seem to laugh at my feeble attempt.  They thrive!  Damn weeds!

I actually enjoy yard work.  I enjoy mowing the yard--it is a sort of game for me.  I think of it as giving the earth a haircut--not a great one, but a haircut none the less.  I don't mind weeding once I get going, but I have found that Round-Up sure makes short work of weeding. The idea of yard work, especially since it involves two dogs, is not high on my list of objectives.  The scooping the poop alone makes me just cringe at having to do yard work.  Maybe if I could teach my two dogs how to clean up after themselves I would be more apt to get excited about yard work.  But . . . I do it.  I do it to keep my neighbors happy.

I appreciate dandelions for the beauty that they represent.  Who among you would disagree that the dandelion is not a beautiful plant--as long as it is not in your yard?  The problem with dandelions is that they like to seed and then spread themselves out to wherever they can go.  So far I think I have now infected most of the yards to the left and right of our house.  We are doing good!

So, here is what I think.  I think that if God had wanted grass to be two inches tall, God would have stopped it at two inches tall.  God wants it to grow.  It is we, humans, that seem to think that it should be two inches tall.  Me, well I kind of like the natural look.  Also, if God did not want us to appreciate the dandelions and weeds, God would not have put them in our yards.  That is not real popular in my neighborhood.  My deep down desire is to to either let my yard go, or to turn it under and pour green concrete,  At least with green concrete it gives the illusion that I care.

In the meantime I will do whatever it is that I have to do to keep the neighbors semi-happy. I will mow my grass.  I will spray my weeds.  But what I really want to do is to spread the "good news" of God's creation.  What better way of spreading the new than:

Evangelism at its simplest.  May you enjoy the beauty of this wonderful weather that we are experiencing in this Montana Spring or wherever you may be.