Weeds for My Dad

Weeds. Do you love them as much as I do? Probably not.

I hated weeds as a kid. Dad (a nurseryman) would have us kids go out to the fields and pull and hoe weeds from amidst all the nursery stock, probably to build character in us. Wait, he surely did it just to get the dang things out of his fields! And oh how I hated it. I'd take a break to lean on my hoe, exhausted, weary, dying of thirst, feeling so sorry for little ole me, so hot and tired and put upon. And that was after only five minutes outside in the sunshine, with three of them spent walking out to the field! I even knew I could go in for a lemonade after I completed just one row. I was such a pansy.

What I remember now is how soft the soil was back in Ohio. Just soft dark brown earth... no rocks, red soil and hard gray clay to stop my hoe from even entering the ground, like here in MD. Oh, I had it so easy back then. I can barely stomp a shovel into the resistant ground here now.

I didn't care about my character as a kid. I just wanted to go read my books up in a tree out in the woods. Dang old weeds! But I did it, and learned how to survive. And... I learned how to work the earth, despite it all. I'm pretty good at growing things today, despite this horrid MD soil. Dad would be proud of me.

Today Sam hates to empty the dishwasher, hates to take out the trash, and hates to make his own salads. But mark my words, when he is 40, he'll be doing all that with no thought of letting someone else do it for him. It'll be part of who he is, just like the weeds are of me.

Today when Sam asks me to throw a few hoops with him out in our driveway, I tend to irritate him by stopping every few minutes to lean over and pull the few weeds I see peeping up out of the garden nearby. I just can't stand to see them there. They call my name, it seems. Or maybe they call my Dad's name, reminding me of days gone by. Dad would be so pleased with my garden.

Well, maybe not at the moment, it's a dang mess - I've just been through four months of misery and pain with the cancer and all - but give me some time. When it gets warmer, I'll be out there with my hoe, doing what Dad taught me to do. The earth will be my salvation and healing. I'll wear my heavy, worn old garden gloves, the ones that say "Vic" on them. Thanks, Dad.