Spring has FINALLY arrived! After what has seemed like an unending dance in the 40s, then a 90 degree day, then 60s, the weatherman assures us that spring is finally here.
and so are my violets. weeds
Johnny Jump-ups. weeds
Creeping charlie. weeds
and ankle deep green splotchy patches of green, so green, grass.
Now, I was raised to take pride in a carefully kept lawn. Yes, I lived in the country and yes, it took around 3 hours to mow EV-ERy-THING, and yes, I
was am terrified of that gas powered trimmer, the one that needed a harness and had actual plastic BLADES instead of string. So, of course, my younger brother and sister did the trimming, I chose the push mower on the “steep side” of the house as my chore, and we divyied up who got to ride mow the orchard/backyard/drainfield.
Two nights ago, I dreamt I was mowing the woods. The woods where we’d build lean-to forts, lie in the decomposing bark and twigs and pretend we were living in our own kingdom. I can still smell that slightly sweet, earthy musk that made summer days so magical. I felt like this WAS my home and I didn’t give a rats’ ass what anyone else thought. And it was bliss.
Flash forward 20 or so years; today, I looked out my front window and realized that I have a MN jungle on my hands. Horsehair and purple flowers dot the outer banks, announcing the woods that surround us. Some ducks wandered in and must’ve found a feast of something since they hung out for quite awhile (until Priya thought her mastiff jowls were wings and attempted to fly).
And the ADULT started to creep in.
what will everyone think? they know i do the yard work. they all drive by, knowing who lives here. i cant believe that i’ve let it go this far. a lawn care company will probably door knock today. this is embarassing. all those WEEDS.
Then I got mad. At myself! After I had told my daughter that the definition of a “weed” is just a plant that is undesirable in the place it has taken root. And I gasped at how this whole dream-reality came full circle.
we’re all weeds.
In some way, we all are weeds, somewhere in our lives. We irritate others around us, we conform, we struggle. But some of us-those of us who are brave and strong and resiliant-we keep pushing out faces to the sun and refuse to let a title crush our spirit. I’m a weed, here in central MN. I speak my mind (sometimes rather brashly), strap on my political boxing gloves and fight the close-mindedness that surrounds me, and I’m still working on that whole “blooming” thing.
I’m constantly trying to figure out where I “belong” while, at the same time, shushing my inner voice-
you weren’t meant to fit in. you were meant for more.
because no one wants to be a weed.
its only a weed if you deem it one. you’re not a weed. you are worthy. you are beautiful. you matter.
If you ask my daughter, she’ll tell you my favorite FLOWER is a dandelion. It’s NOT a weed to me. It is sunshine scattered to walk upon. It’s the honeybees’ first meal. It’s soft and fuzzy and glorious.
i may be a weed to you. but I KNOW, i’m a flower. you’re just not ready for those like me yet.
Soon, inner voice, I’ll be blooming and strong enough to say it aloud. But for now, I’ll keep that a secret to smile about.
Listen to this song, and tell me you didn’t smile too.
not a weed