I’VE BEEN GETTING the garden ready for spring. I mean summer. It’s already spring, even if it doesn’t feel like it.
It’s the first time in my adult life that I’ve had my very own garden. In the past, I had to share my mother’s garden, or I had to make a balcony “garden”, which really isn’t a garden at all. It’s a bunch of plants in planters.
Now that I have my own garden I feel like I’m not doing it right.
The people who lived in the house before me planted a whole slew of ornamentals that require vigilance, or else they take over. From what I can tell, there was no vigilance, and the plants took over. The poor things have gotten out of control and have to be removed.
I’ve been ripping them out, one plant at a time, and I feel like I’m doing it wrong. I feel inefficient. Mostly, I feel bad. I hate this. The ripping. The pulling. The shredding. It’s not the plant’s fault that the people before me had a undeveloped understanding of gardening. It’s not the plant’s fault that it wanted to live. It’s not the plant’s fault that it pushed dirt to accomplish this and ended up taking over an entire walkway.
At the same time, it’s my sidewalk.
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