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 . . .