I’m becoming addicted to weeding. It’s so satisfying, so gratifying. For maximum gratification I’m doing small patches in view of the windows, weeding then planting. That way I get to admire my efforts continuously. It’s the little feel-good moments that spur me on to bigger things.
There’s something so incredibly satisfying about ripping little plants out by their roots. My front yard has been a weedy mess due to neglect for a while, but since the rains have arrived I’ve been out there quietly ripping, yanking and pulling those weeds out with a vengeance. My muscles are sore, partly from pulling weeds, partly from walking up and down my hill to collect loads of fallen oak leaves to use as mulch. (No point in weeding if you don’t cover it up with something.) I’m gradually making my way from south to north in the garden bed, and very pleased that I can survey my toils from my kitchen window. On top of the joy of tidy garden beds, today I uncovered a plant I thought long since disappeared. It’s still there, looking quite healthy, and hopefully happier now that it doesn’t have to compete with all the grass.