I admit I love flowers.  I love looking at them, planting them, transplanting them, and yes, weeding them.  I tend to think of the weeding phase as my emotional therapy.  I put on my weeding gloves, get my hand digger, hat, sunglasses and head out.

I’m joined by all three dogs and a few cats.  Not a problem, I’m used to having company after raising 4 children.  The only problem is that eventually, my dog, Molly, lays right on the flowers, the other dogs lay right on my feet, and a cat jumps on my back.  Then the two dogs begin to play fight and they knock into me as I have my back turned to them, nearly knocking me over.  I yell at them both to “Knock it off!”, get the cat off my back, and return to weeding.  This process repeats itself until I finally realize that my “relaxing” weed time has turned into playing, fighting, and yelling!  Just like it used to when the kids were young.

I soon somehow finish weeding, walk all around to admire my work and look at all the beautiful flowers, and I think that maybe the weeding isn’t my therapy so much as seeing all the colors and textures of what emerges from the weeds.  Looking at the different plants reminds me of  when my daughters and I planted them, my sons  took their play tractors and dugs “fields”  in my plant beds, the girls yelling at the boys for trampling the tender new seedlings, the girls again putting the plants back  in the soil and the boys filling the holes with their play skidloaders.  Keeping everyone involved allowed me the time to get it all done and play with the kids all together at once.



As I sit here and type this, the boys are arguing over which tractor to hook up to the seeder, how much sorghum they should plant, and if they can get done before the rain comes. The pressure is building and now I’m all out of weeds!