The spate of nice weather has enticed those of us, so inclined, to take various weapons in hand and attack our gardens.
I was right in there among the weeds, doing what damage I could.
I am very carefully not referring to myself as a gardener. If title must be placed, I am a de-weeder. As opposed to a regular gardener, a de-weeder sits on the ground in a patch of weeds and without moving too much, attempts to pull, tug, wrench, pry or get the weeds out, roots attached.
I find it very disconcerting that weeds grow faster than nice-looking, flowery plants. Is there some kind of growth material secreted by that weed? Maybe I’ll ask King TV’s gardener, Ciscoe Morris, the next time I see him. Back to weeding — or rather, de-weeding. I bet I pulled enough weeds one afternoon to fill a large, black, plastic trash bag. I had some bags from last year, still full, so I trundled them all into the back of the SUV, after putting down a blue tarp to protect the carpeting from creepy crawlies and various forms of fungi.
I drove to the transfer station, at the top of Cedar Falls Road, stopped at the little weigh station, and when the lady asked me what I was dumping, I said, “yard waste.”
She said something like, “Go to slot 4.” I backed into slot 4 and proceeded to offload my yard waste.
When I had finished, I stopped back by the little shed to pay my bill. The lady there practically tore into me. She said that she watched me throw plastic bags containing yard waste and that I had just contaminated the whole truck load of yard waste material.
At that point I didn’t know the rules, but now I know. I think I’m clued in and promise to never again spoil a truckload of yard waste stuff.
When we were house shopping many years ago, the real estate agent said, “This house is what you want, yadda yadda. And the property itself is very natural.”
She had a strange definition of “natural.” There were parts of our yard that had never seen a hoe, shovel, or any other weapon of weed disposal.
And to be perfectly honest, the yard has been neglected. I have always found a reason to take me away from my outdoor chores.
So if you chance to drive by our house, and it’s a nice day, check out the yard and look for a bald guy sitting in the middle of a bunch of weeds.
If you don’t see me out there, it possibly could be that the weeds have gotten me and are slowly burying my comatose body.
Beware of the weeds, be you a gardener, or an official de-weeder.
• Bob Edwards is a member of the SnoValleyWrites writers’ group. He lives in North Bend. E-mail him at bobledwards@comcast.net.
