The Root of Weeding

Now that spring is in its full glory, I have been reveling in the beauty of all the pink and white, flowering trees and the multi-colored, gorgeous tulips! They. Are. My. Favorite!

This is one of the reasons why I love places with all four seasons. You get to savor each phase of this incredible world's potential as the seasons change. From winter, when the world is blanketed by the silent snowfalls to spring when the birds begin twittering away with the glory of the new day and new life emerges. From the heat and sunshine paired against the cooling green grasses of summer, to the blustering leaves falling in the autumn with corn, pumpkins and apples ready for harvest. I adore each season for its uniqueness and beauty.

So, now amidst the magnificence of spring, the warmer temperatures and sunnier days, I've come to realize that it's also time for some yard work and gardening. Along with the new flowers, come the weeds, the overgrown grasses attempting to overtake the flower beds, and the dandelions bent on spreading their seeds to every corner of creation. Time to get my hands dirty and chip away at the "laundry-like" outside chore of weeding. It never ends. As soon as you've finished, you have to start again. You get the idea.  

As I was outside today bent over one of our flower beds, determined to pluck out all the grass that was choking one of our plants, I reflected on a time when I was a pre-teen and teenager living in the house my family owned in Victorville, California doing something very similar. We had a massive yard. And it needed A LOT of care.

I remember working out back with my dad as he attempted to rototil the hard, dry clay-like desert dirt, to ready it for putting in a sprinkler system and then be seeded for grass. My siblings and I were tasked with pulling out the large rocks and discarding them, so that the rototiller could do its job.

Later once the ground was broken up a bit, my dad and I (because I was the oldest - it didn't matter that I was a girl) were out there digging trenches for the sprinkler system which my dad constructed himself. Then we covered up the lines, aerated and mulched the dirt, and had it sprayed with grass seed. I felt so strong doing that work with my dad. I got blisters, my body hurt, but we made something together.

To my young eyes, it was an amazing transformation. A HECK of a lot of work, but an amazing feat to see the yard come together. My dad finally put up wooden borders to outline the grass from the three sides of the yard, which were MEANT to be reserved for plants and flowers. The yard was about as complete as it was going to get. My parents did eventually put in some rose bushes along one side, and two large bushy plants in the two corners of the yard, but for the most part the garden areas stayed dirt. They were weed gardens. We excelled at growing weeds on all three side of  the yard's"flower beds". One guess who got to weed those flower beds.

I remember many a Saturday during the summers when my siblings and I were in charge of weeding those dreaded flower beds. We would rotate each week, working on a different side. It would take us FOR. EV. ER. Mind you, I was the oldest starting at about age 12, with my sister Laura age 9, and brother Ben age 5 and Don age 2 who didn't count, obviously. The three of us would go out together with the two weeders our family owned and one small grubbing, pick-like tool which was mine to wield on those huge, gangely weeds, desperate to unearth their long roots. We'd take a trash can lid with us for dropping the weeds into until it was overflowing, then we'd dump our progress into the can and head back for more. Because there was always more. Much more. It felt like hours. It was seriously the worst. We were sweating out there, filthy, our arms and backs aching. We all hated it.

I think one of the things we hated the most about it was that we felt like slave labor. My dad was usually at work, if he wasn't off doing a project of his own. My mom was probably in the air-conditioned house with Don folding laundry or something. We knew that they had things to do, but we felt abandoned out there doing all that hard work on our own. I know my parents did the best they knew how, but I wish that we could have worked as a family like we had when preparing the yard. Taken that time to be together and make it something more than drudgery. Chores are hard. Work is work. Chores and work are necessary. But they are always better done together as a group. Not only does it go faster, but the feeling of accomplishment and teamwork is present more, as well. We can bond as we work.

So, back to me in my front yard today. I was grateful for the lessons I learned as a youth to work hard, how to take care of a yard and how to weed. They are necessary, character building skills. I was also grateful for the sunshine today and for the ability to be well and healthy enough to do the work. However, I also recognized that it is not a job for one person alone. I need to get my children out learning the lessons I learned, but this time I want to go about it differently.

My goal this summer, amongst the fun activities and different kind of busy, is to go out with my children to weed and take care of the yard together. I want them to learn as I did to work hard, get their hands dirty, to be able to see the progress that can be made in beautifying the space that is ours to care for, but also I want them to see ME working WITH them. Doing hard things. There to encourage them, to have the "we're all in this together" attitude. Because we are. Because it's the best way to be.  

So, I guess the root of all this is that weeding builds character, but it can also build up families. I think it can, anyways. Time will tell. Those are the musings of a spring weeder, anyway.

And in the meantime, I also was able to enjoy admiring the beautiful wreath that Louise and I made last year for the door. Now that's spring, I put it back up and it makes me so happy. This is the front door to the home where great things can happen. :)