Isn’t it funny that we say, “I weeded the garden,” when what we mean is, “I got the weeds out of the garden”? It’s like saying, “I shelled the peas,” when the peas are clearly no longer in their shells. Same same with cherries, peaches, prunes, and their pits. I have not, by the way, shelled the peas, nor did I string the beans. Abigail did that the night before last because she is a better person than I am. She also pitted the cherries and put them into the ice cream, which was delicious.
While she was doing all of this, I did not weed the garden either. I did cut the grass, which has been growing like a weed. Well, it’s been growing like weeds, most likely because a fair portion of it is weeds depending on how you classify clover. The landscape manager counts most things that are green and not in a flower bed as “grass” so I’m going with that as well. Even grass in a flower bed counts as weeds, so the line seems exceedingly fine.
Yet the profusion of organic material persists. Judging from the flowers and vegetables around me, I’m not too shabby at the whole horticulture thing. Judging from a distance anyway. Up close you can see the weeds and the intrusion of the vinca onto the dwarf irises. There’s clover in the Korean mums, and I don’t even want to know what’s happening back there with the tomatoes and carrots. Life, I suspect. That’s what is going on, and while I think I can reign it in for a bit, I should never fool myself into thinking that I have it under control.