I have become an avid weeder.
My husband does 99% of the yard work, and all the heavy labor.
I have taken on the responsibility of removing weeds.
Below are photos and descriptions of weeds I tackle, along with some life applications related to these weeds.
These V-shaped, light green weeds spring up within the yard and grow faster than the lawn grass.
As weeds go, these are fairly unoffensive. I could pull them up, but I look at them and say, “Meh.” (My preteen granddaughter taught me saying meh to those weeds indicates my indifference to their existence.)
I compare these weeds to other things I choose to accept: the clutter that accumulates on my kitchen island, my grandkids’ habit of using the word butt, and the saggy skin on the underside of my arms.
I may not like these things, but I will tolerate them.
Our yard is a hotbed of these weeds. They crop up everywhere: in cracks in the driveway, between the bricks around flower beds, in sunny spots and shady spots, and everywhere else.
The one good thing about them (if weeds can have a good thing) is their ease of removal. Their spindly, pink-white roots lift out of the ground on my first tug. I rarely walk to the mailbox without stooping to feel the thrill of doing away with one.
These weeds represent my ever-present and annoying bad habits:
- Leaving the dishwasher lid down and banging my shin at least once a day
- Pulling on loose cuticles until I make my fingers sore
- Having to unload the dryer before I can put in a load of wet clothes
- Throwing the empty muffin mix box in the trash and then having to get it out three times to check and recheck how long I’m supposed to bake the muffins
- Forgetting to take my 9:00 a.m. dose of medicine until 11:00 a.m., which means I can’t take my 1:00 p.m. dose until 3:00 p.m., my 5:00 p.m. dose until 7:00 p.m., and my 9:00 p.m. dose until 11:00 p.m.
It is an ongoing job to purge both spurge and bad habits from my life.
Ah, the dandelion!
It first shows up with a colorful yellow flower the grandkids pick and bring in as a gift for grandma. Then it develops a feathery puffball the grandkids pick and swing through the air, planting more dandelions.
Finally it spreads its thick green arms across the surface of the ground and dares me to try to pull out its long, white root.
I go after these monsters with a heavy-duty, metal digging stick, and still I don’t always remove the whole root.
These embedded weeds are like ongoing irritations that keep me aggravated but are beyond my ability to eradicate: pop-up ads on my computer; goose poop on sidewalks; political wrangling; dust; loud pick-up trucks; squeaky, wobbly shopping carts; and houseflies that never sit long enough to be swatted.
Dandelions will never be eliminated. Neither will the frustrations of daily life. I should accept that fact and stop letting them make me miserable.
See the discussion of the dandelion above. Different weed, same vexation.
The thistles in my yard are like dandelions or crabgrass, but with thorns. Several times I have reached to uproot a thistle with my bare hands. I always regret it.
Thistles represent my significant troubles, the things that keep me awake at night. They are prickly on the surface and deeply rooted. sicknesses and heartaches among the people I love, COVID-19 and its aftermath, the pitiful condition of the world my grandchildren will inherit, and irredeemable personal regrets.
Setting my mind on these things is as painful as wrapping my fingers around a thistle plant. My only protection from the anguish they bring is prayer.
Did weeds exist in Eden? I think not. Will they exist in the New World we call Eternity? No, neither the literal nor the figurative ones.
For now, both my yard and my life are weedy.