We tilled the garden this week. By which I mean I suggested it was time to till the garden and Dean rented the machine and ran it for several hours – a real team effort. But I digress.
Prior to tilling, the garden was an eyesore. I felt a little bit of pain and shame passing by it on every coming or going for the last, oh, eight and a half months. Last year was not a good one for our gardening endeavors. I’ll spare you the whole gory list of contributing factors; suffice it to say that by about mid-summer, it became a mental health issue because I would return so disheartened and defeated every time I spent any time tending it. So neglect became the officially adopted policy. A week ago, a trained eye was required to discern it from the surrounding field.
But now, NOW… all sins are erased and all that you can see is possibility. It’s all a lie, of course, like the “clean slate” story always is. But it’s a seductive lie, so… neat and tidy and virtuous.
Alas, I noticed a few yellow dandelions in one of the furrows today that must have been growing furiously to re-establish themselves. There are plenty more roots and rhizomes and seeds hiding under the surface. Some may be set back, others are thrilled by the new advantage over the competition. Let the battles begin anew.
Luckily, hope springs eternal. For one, the rhubarb is loving this wet spring…
On the flip side, the neighboring cows appear to be pissed we wasted all that good grass.