Last night I decided that if we're going to grow a garden this year, then I'd 
really better get busy on it. I have talked about it in the presence of my family (hint, hint) for weeks; but I've had no takers. So at about 7:30 p.m. I went out and looked around at our garden spot. We had some really nice rain a couple weeks ago, and the weeds really have appreciated this. They were a couple feet high. Unfortunately this means they were probably also a couple feet deep into the ground too. Work, work, ugly work.
I'm not normally against working; I think it's a good thing. But here's why this particular work is ugly:
1. I hate trying to get a shovel in under the roots of the weeds. I'm not strong enough to just shove it down in there. No, each scoop takes me about five minutes, I swear. Because I have to use all of my weight and strength to dig up the ground, and then I have to squat or stoop to finish pulling the weed and shake the dirt off of it's roots. Once or twice is OK, but not for a couple hours straight.
2. I hate trying to find the real root of the problem. Our local weeds have roots that reach all the way down to . . . Hades. And if you chop them off, they just sprout back stronger than ever. No, you have to get the entire root out.
3. I HATE bugs! I don't mind spiders and praying mantises if they don't touch me (since they eat other bugs); and the bumblebee that was hanging around last night was really cool. But I hate, despise, detest, abhor the crawly, shiny bugs that live in the dirt. The very dirt that I'm plunging my hands into so I can attempt to destroy the weeds. Eeew! And worms! This morning I unearthed a 6-inch worm that was as fat as my finger. Then I discovered that actually I chopped him in half, so there were two 6-inch worm pieces crawling around where I was working. Gross. I've often seen my dad pick these guys up and toss them aside, but no way am I going to do that—no, not even with gloves on!
really better get busy on it. I have talked about it in the presence of my family (hint, hint) for weeks; but I've had no takers. So at about 7:30 p.m. I went out and looked around at our garden spot. We had some really nice rain a couple weeks ago, and the weeds really have appreciated this. They were a couple feet high. Unfortunately this means they were probably also a couple feet deep into the ground too. Work, work, ugly work.I'm not normally against working; I think it's a good thing. But here's why this particular work is ugly:
1. I hate trying to get a shovel in under the roots of the weeds. I'm not strong enough to just shove it down in there. No, each scoop takes me about five minutes, I swear. Because I have to use all of my weight and strength to dig up the ground, and then I have to squat or stoop to finish pulling the weed and shake the dirt off of it's roots. Once or twice is OK, but not for a couple hours straight.
2. I hate trying to find the real root of the problem. Our local weeds have roots that reach all the way down to . . . Hades. And if you chop them off, they just sprout back stronger than ever. No, you have to get the entire root out.
3. I HATE bugs! I don't mind spiders and praying mantises if they don't touch me (since they eat other bugs); and the bumblebee that was hanging around last night was really cool. But I hate, despise, detest, abhor the crawly, shiny bugs that live in the dirt. The very dirt that I'm plunging my hands into so I can attempt to destroy the weeds. Eeew! And worms! This morning I unearthed a 6-inch worm that was as fat as my finger. Then I discovered that actually I chopped him in half, so there were two 6-inch worm pieces crawling around where I was working. Gross. I've often seen my dad pick these guys up and toss them aside, but no way am I going to do that—no, not even with gloves on!4. I hate that I'm slightly allergic to our indigenous weeds. I come in sneezing and covered with a rash each time I weed the garden.
5. I don't really like being in the sun all that much. Although 7 p.m. and 6 a.m. aren't so bad.
6. I hate that it takes me two hours to clear about eight square feet of garden, when I'm perfectly aware that it took Bruce, Michael and Jason two hours to clear the entire garden last year.
I confess, I do like admiring any good work that I've done—and getting everyone else to admire it. But I'd be happy to admire someone else's work in this case.
I suppose the real problem is that I am a feminist. Not the "anything a
man can do, I can do better" kind that you're thinking of. No, I am a true feminist: the kind that believes in classic femininity. The kind that believes that men really are bigger and stronger than I am, and that they can do some things better than I can—like digging up the garden and preparing the soil. And so I believe that if I have three strong, capable men in the house, then they should do the gardening. At least the yucky part of it. (In Jason's defense, he did help me last night. And Bruce was working. But Michael . . . Do you feel guilty yet?)
Some women, like my mother-in-law, my mother, and my sister Melanie, actually like gardening! Go figure! Margaret (my mother-in-law) assures me that when I am less busy with little kids I will start to like this task. No. I don't think I'll ever like the back-breaking part of it. Putting the cute little plants or seeds into the ground, watching them grow, seeing the flowers, eating the fruit; yes. I already do like those. If that's all there was to gardening I would love it!
5. I don't really like being in the sun all that much. Although 7 p.m. and 6 a.m. aren't so bad.
6. I hate that it takes me two hours to clear about eight square feet of garden, when I'm perfectly aware that it took Bruce, Michael and Jason two hours to clear the entire garden last year.
I confess, I do like admiring any good work that I've done—and getting everyone else to admire it. But I'd be happy to admire someone else's work in this case.
I suppose the real problem is that I am a feminist. Not the "anything a
man can do, I can do better" kind that you're thinking of. No, I am a true feminist: the kind that believes in classic femininity. The kind that believes that men really are bigger and stronger than I am, and that they can do some things better than I can—like digging up the garden and preparing the soil. And so I believe that if I have three strong, capable men in the house, then they should do the gardening. At least the yucky part of it. (In Jason's defense, he did help me last night. And Bruce was working. But Michael . . . Do you feel guilty yet?)Some women, like my mother-in-law, my mother, and my sister Melanie, actually like gardening! Go figure! Margaret (my mother-in-law) assures me that when I am less busy with little kids I will start to like this task. No. I don't think I'll ever like the back-breaking part of it. Putting the cute little plants or seeds into the ground, watching them grow, seeing the flowers, eating the fruit; yes. I already do like those. If that's all there was to gardening I would love it!
—that means there's still a lot more of it down in the ground. >:-( And, just to clarify, the smile is for the guy behind the camera—not for the sheer joy of pulling weeds.
2 comments:
I feel the same about gardening. Which is why I sent Ben out to finish ours. Oddly enough my mom used to offer to pay us kids to weed and I always spent hours weeding for her. Hmmmmm...what was I thinking.
I love the picture with your trophy weed! Awesome.
Wow, that's a monster weed!
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