Last year I spent the summer pregnant with my third daughter.
I spent the spring planting season, my favorite time of year in the garden, sick.
I spent the fall harvest season, my second favorite time of year, swollen.
I spent the summer weeding season, never my favorite on a good day, not weeding.
My poor husband tried to keep up for a while, but with the house and the kids to help take care of, not to mention his wife, he too let the garden go.
It was a sad year for vegetation on our little plot.
This year we are taking it back. Already the weeds are coming out, fresh dirt is going in, and a green row of seedlings is tucked in.
I have spent more time weeding today than I have in years. I am going to learn to like weeding. If not like it, then at least to tolerate it.
Weeding should be something I can find joy in. After all, it is exactly how I write. Things flourish across the page, then I come through and ruthlessly hack out all the junk; sometimes to the point where there is nothing left at all. Then I tuck in new things and let them grow.
home2work 