In which weeds are discussed

I got home this evening and was hit with the I-need-to-do-some-yard-work bug. I blame the decorative grasses. Every fall we tie them up and wrap Christmas lights around them, then each spring they get cut down so the new grass can grow in. When I pulled up this evening I saw those grasses still tied up with green shoots struggling to come in and knew tonight was the night to pull out the electric saw and get to work.

After cutting down the grass, I started cleaning up the yard and weeding the flower beds. While tugging away at a particularly nasty weed, one of the neighbor boys came by on his bike to talk to me. This kid is a unique soul. Last summer he spent a lot of time roaming the neighborhood sans shirt and a knit ski hat pulled over his face—not a ski mask, an actual hat. I think he was pretending to be Batman, or Spiderman, or something-man, but I don’t know how successful a superhero you can be without eyeholes in your mask.

Last night when I got home from work, he was riding his bike in our cul-de-sac. He saw my car heading down the street and changed course straight for me. I slowed down and watched him carefully, but he seemed determined to play a quick round of chicken. Finally, he swerved off into the neighbor’s yard, and I pulled in front of my house. As I opened my car door I heard his little voice accusing me: “Hey dude, er lady. You almost hit me!” I told him I didn’t even get close, but he seemed quite insistent about it. His parents haven’t served me with a lawsuit yet, so I think I’m ok. Right?

Anyway, tonight I’m tugging away at this huge weed, and he rides up next to me and asks, “Whatcha doin’?”

“I’m—pulling—(grunt, grunt, tug, tug)—weeds.”

“Why? Is it because they kill your other plants?”

“That’s—right (pant, pant, tug some more).”

He watches as I keep tugging until finally, the roots pop out with a satisfying rip. Then he looks at me and says, “You know weeds just keep growing back.”

Yes, I do know that. Thanks for reminding me of the futility of my efforts.

That pretty much killed the yard work bug, so I threw away the slaughtered weeds, and put everything away. To the kid’s credit, he did offer to let me move into his house where they apparently don’t have any weeds, but you can understand why I was a little hesitant to take him up on that offer. Instead I grabbed a lawn chair and a book, and enjoyed the fruits of my labors. Why not enjoy those weed-free flower beds while I still can?