I don’t know where you all are from, but here in NE Indiana, spring has been largely…absent. Tardy. Stubborn as hell to leave winter’s side. This weekend, though, we appear to be turning the proverbial leaf.
And it’s about darned time.
Last night when I found myself with sun, mid-fifties, and a bit of kid-free time, I headed outside to find my zen. Yep, you guessed it – pulling weeds. In this case, rogue grass.
I know some people abhor the idea of sitting/kneeling hunched over for hours on end, ripping plants out of the soil (which, by the way? Here in Indiana, our soil is clay…and not the colorful, fun Play Doh kind, either). But me, I love it. Pulling weeds grounds me, no pun intended. The repetitive motion frees my mind to wander and ponder. Tonight, the pondering centered around, well, grass.
Every spring I head outside and pull grass that has “crossed the line” into my flowerbeds. I have many such beds–some are little islands amid the green of the yard, some snuggled up beside my home’s foundation–but none are immune to the sneaky little blade runners that snake their way under my mulch and stone. When I was younger (and man, do I hate that I’m starting to use that phrase more and more often) it used to frustrate me to no end when I’d see grass pop up where it wasn’t supposed to. I’d go running for my gloves and trowel, and quickly remove the offender and as much of its roots as I could.
And did that diligence keep my flowerbeds pristine and grass free?
Grass, it grows. It doesn’t have an agenda. It isn’t sneaky, and really can’t know where my “lines” are. Over time, I’ve come to accept that. If it grows where I don’t want it to, I just remedy that with a bit of elbow grease. Of course, my back doesn’t like that I’m still spending so much time outside yanking grass from the not-so-beloved clay, but when my flowers bloom and the beds’ edges are neat and tidy, the view is worth it.
For a day or two, anyway. You know, before more rogue grass appears where it shouldn’t. 😉
Life’s kind of like that. You have these images in your head of what you want to see, how you expect situations to go or people to act, when really very little of those outside influences are in your control. So rather than curse the speed bumps, you accept them for what they are. Doesn’t mean you can’t do some pruning along the way, but meltdowns simply won’t change a thing.
Dig in, clean up. Reshape, maintain.
Happy spring, everyone.