That’s weeds with an ‘s’. I’m talking about those plants that have indestructible root systems that defy gravity, obstacle and soil type. Those pesky living organisms that were never chosen or placed in the garden, but join the party as crashers that stay long after the invited guests have gone home. And they keep returning. Sneakily appearing in cracks, against fences, under rose bushes, through stones and between vegetables. I put off weeding until I can’t. Bear it, that is. The garden starts to look untidy and unkempt and I’m too house-proud to let them win.
I read somewhere that vinegar, salt and dishwashing liquid mixed together make a deadly home remedy for weed kill. I’m slightly disturbed because salt and vinegar are my favourite flavoured chips, but then I don’t usually digest them with dishwashing liquid, so I guess the concoction is ok.
Despite all of this, I’m grateful for them. I’m thankful that I have a garden and space for them to grow. I’m thankful that there’s rain and sunshine which keeps them alive. I’m glad that the soil is good. That I’ve other plants for them to annoy. I’m thankful for the physical activity of weeding (I’m not really, my back is killing me now after this morning’s unplugging of these irritating plants). I’m grateful for all of this that eludes others, that others might wish or strive for.
One’s weed is another’s garden plant, I discovered. When I lived in London, many years ago, I resided in a share-house with a tiny courtyard at the back. The sun shone in that courtyard for a small number of days and the rain filled it for the remaining days in the year. We bought pots and grew herbs. We put chairs out there. Had the odd party. And the weeds joined too. I spent one morning, alone, pulling them out of garden beds and the edges of paving stones. Ripping larger ones from the back fence, until my English housemate returned home and with horror looked upon my labours. It turns out that what we call weeds in Australia are locals in the UK. Oops.
Don’t be mistaken, I’m not celebrating weeds. Life would be much easier without them. But it’s what they represent that I’m grateful for. A fortunate life.
I wish others the opportunity to pull them out too.
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