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Goatheads, Be Gone!

July 15, 2010

Yesterday, I wrote in a comment to Jane:  My rooms are like my garden, all filled with weeds, and I can’t find the nourishing parts.

I spent all morning exhuming some of my pepper plants and a few asparagus fronds. They were all being choked by a variety of very hardy weeds.

The weeds are so large they hid the tender asparagus, and I pulled up a seedling or two as I cleared out the ground between the pepper plants. I looked for tongue-depressor markers, but they had broken off and were lying prone next to their wards. One I kept stepping on because it was so tiny.

Everything is inundated by the weeds. See my lettuce?

See my lettuce? It's in there, honest!

Where are the pepper plants?

Will I ever get this garden weeded? The weeds I pulled yesterday were time and energy consuming, but a threat only to my lovely vegetables. They dig up fairly easily and are not yet blooming, however . . .

Puncture weeds have taken over my rhubarb bed!!!

Yarghh! Puncture weeds!

Goatheads, the bane of anyone’s existence!  My feet ache in remembrance of past encounters. They’re blooming now. If I wait until next week, I’ll have the evil offspring to contend with. There must be no waiting!. This is a priority of the most urgent kind.

Little, tiny yellow flowers -- harbingers of evil!

The weedy garden is my house — stuffed, choked, crowding out life and nourishment. And I have goatheads – both literally and figuratively: Goatheads in the carpet occasionally brought in on shoe soles.  Moths, eating my precious fleeces.  Everywhere I turn there’s stuff. I have to step over stuff. I bang my toes on stuff.  I trip over stuff. Everything is too much, too much. And, everything is a priority. How did I, why did I, let it get so bad?

And here I sit and write. Knowing that I “should” be weeding before the goatheads come. I lament, lament, lament my victimization. Goatheads everywhere, hidden enemies, hidden treacheries, hidden daggers.  Literally there are hundreds of them coming – everywhere.  If I go after them in my garden, I won’t be going after them in my house. If I divide my time between the two, I’ll lose the battle in the garden. And, like PlaneJaner said, “it’s such a never-ending, repeating process, this ‘clean it up and clear it out so we can clean it up and clear it out again…’”

This running from emergency to emergency is what is defining my life.  Curt scoffed at me once when I told him I wasn’t the one in control of my life. I have things I want to do, I plan to do, and the priorities trump the desires.  Now, I could let the goatheads flourish and multiply. Aw, hell!  Forget the goatheads, they will always be among us – among me – like my messes. Or I can tackle them with a vengeance – see them as an unpleasant metaphor of my life.  As outside, so inside.

I will not be defeated by a bunch of goatheads.  Life is too precious to keep whining. I AM NOT THEIR VICTIM — inside or out!!!  My qwest (and I DO accept it) is to rid myself of goatheads, literally and figuratively. Onward into the garden!   Upward into the house!  Light the burning barrels!  Gather the garbage bags!  I prepare for battle.  Armed with my shovel, gloves and bucket, I go forward, into the fray. Determined and fierce, I charge. . .that is, after I enter this post!

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