Weeds are Green, Too.

I did some weeding this afternoon, but rather half-heartedly. Of all the jobs in the garden, weeding is the only one I consciously dislike. There are two reasons for that:

1) The human animal is designed to stand upright. It’s the best position from which to escape predators, unexpected rain showers, and the Jehovah’s Witness missionaries you can see approaching the gate. I’m comfortable with upright, and so I’m happy to be mowing, digging, hedge trimming and so on. I’m not comfortable scratting around at ground level. I might be if I were a chimpanzee, but I’m not a chimpanzee.

2) It seems wrong to me that we should coo over the rose bush, but scowl at the hardy nettle and call it vermin. They’re both green growing things, and a garden is, for me, a place to experience the phenomenon of growth. Accordingly, planting things makes sense, but there’s something dubious about ripping things out.

Of course, I realise that gardens are also about form, colour and a certain measure of control, and that’s why I nod to convention and do a certain amount of weeding. What I don’t do is tug my forelock to it.