Those wretched weeds

It is spring. Late spring. I think the crazy growth happening in the garden will be gradually slowing, particularly as the weather heats up. They say this weekend will get to thirty-five. I despair for my much-loved lawn.

During the last couple of months, though, the dominance of the cape weed in my grass has been a stark reminder of the virulence of weeds at this time of year. The yellow cape weed flowers—those ones we used to make daisy chains as children—mock me! I mow, as low as practical, and appear to remove the bulk of them, but it is literally only hours before they rear their heads again, or sprout new ones, and disturb the green expanse I love so much.

Someone once said weeds were simply plants in the wrong place. I’d like to believe that but it is difficult. Although I no longer have garden beds, I know a forest of weeds among the roses is frustrating and time-consuming. Not to mention, a spoiler of the peaceful and tended look one is trying to create.

Things in the wrong place. Applies to so many situations. That’s why we tidy, or clean or, in the reverse, stick within a comfort zone, thus avoiding the potential of being that very thing that’s wandered out of its acceptable or manageable space. We’ve all been in a state of feeling we don’t belong. Usually, no one ‘weeds’ us, or flings broad-leaf spray at us, but it can certainly be uncomfortable both for our own sense of self and for those around.

Although in a civilised society we don’t condone getting rid of elements that are out of place, I think, in the garden, we can still pull out the oxalis and reduce the cape weed. The alternative is, of course, to learn to love them.

It’s difficult.

Kirsten