My mother loves yard work, but me? Not so much. Growing up, and when given the choice, I'd always pick cleaning the house over working in the yard, while she would amuse herself on a daily basis by planting all sorts of strangely named perennials and annuals, doting over "beautiful native flora" (weeds) that sprung up voluntarily, and tugging at the wayward invaders of her various garden beds, usually the dreaded dandelion. Yesterday I was reminded of my past and why I'm still not a landscaping fan: I can't control the outdoors to my liking, which leads to a bad attitude in general about working out-of-doors. Flowers I plant refuse to take a fancy to my particular dirt, instead demanding mixtures of extra nutrients and expensive potting soil. Buy dirt at the store? Ridiculous. Other plants need the perfect combination of sun, filtered sun or partial shade, although I have yet to decipher just how much "partial," "part sun, part shade," and "mostly shade" each mean in actuality. And heaven forbid the plants only get AFTERNOON sun! I won't even begin to go into the weed arena, where the above mentioned particulars hold no value. Anyway, yesterday I decided to attempt a little yard beautification I can enjoy before summer comes and my springtime efforts die in the red clay. After picking up a passel of sticks and failing to remove any dandelions by their roots, I decided to divide my Mexican heather. BIG mistake. The more I dug into the plant, the more it stood firm. The beast withstood all my tugs, my shovel, even my dreaded loppers. Not even a shimmy from the monster. My response? Take no prisoners. I imagined myself as Sherman marching through GA, scorched earth and take no prisoners would win the day. In fact if I had not had close neighbors at home, I would have doused the evil behemoth with whatever I could get to ignite it. Instead, I landed on my back in the middle of the approximately 6 ft. mass of flowering tendrils, wondering if my body would ever allow me (like the South?) to rise again. Needless to say, the plant is still there.
The point of this somewhat embarrassing narrative about my front yard exploits? I imagined the worst, and it was delivered. Just as the windmills in the novel Don Quixote became giants to be conquered by our dear protagonist, I mistook a beautiful mass of sturdy, plain ol' dirt and afternoon sun lovin' flowers for an enemy bent on overtaking me. Me, there it is. That two letter word that gets us all in trouble time and time again. A timely reminder before setting out on my Camino, this weekend escapade has reminded me that when I prepare myself for imagined enemies, whether they are plants, people, or pains that may come along the Way, I tend to miss out on the beauty of those very things, people, or events. Even the oft cursed dandelion leaf is supposed to make a delicious salad green. The injury that sidelines many a hiker? It usually leads to an opportunity to build a new friendship or make peace with the stillness. We all have situations that upon first glance seem formidable foes, but with a grateful attitude and an adventurous spirit, even the weeds can lead to blessings and a buen Camino.
The point of this somewhat embarrassing narrative about my front yard exploits? I imagined the worst, and it was delivered. Just as the windmills in the novel Don Quixote became giants to be conquered by our dear protagonist, I mistook a beautiful mass of sturdy, plain ol' dirt and afternoon sun lovin' flowers for an enemy bent on overtaking me. Me, there it is. That two letter word that gets us all in trouble time and time again. A timely reminder before setting out on my Camino, this weekend escapade has reminded me that when I prepare myself for imagined enemies, whether they are plants, people, or pains that may come along the Way, I tend to miss out on the beauty of those very things, people, or events. Even the oft cursed dandelion leaf is supposed to make a delicious salad green. The injury that sidelines many a hiker? It usually leads to an opportunity to build a new friendship or make peace with the stillness. We all have situations that upon first glance seem formidable foes, but with a grateful attitude and an adventurous spirit, even the weeds can lead to blessings and a buen Camino.