The morning's work

I am late getting into the garden this morning and it takes me a while before I settle down to my work. Some mornings, I know exactly what I want to accomplish – but this morning, with seeds and seedling mostly planted, and feeling like I squandered the early morning cool, I am impatient.

I stop to breathe into my frustration and to let it tell me what needs to get done. I decide that it is time to cover the garden with mulch and choose the Brussels sprouts as the place to begin. A quick survey finds the bed in good shape but takes in the fact that the grass from outside of the garden continues to send its runners into my cultivated soil. In my desire to get rid of those roots, I move outside the garden and begin to pull the grass from the other side. I get a serrated knife from the kitchen to saw away a huge clump of horse grass that grows between the two layers of wire fencing.

The grass is succulent and I think how it is unfortunate that it is not edible. And as soon as that thought pops into my brain, I think of the many meat animals that feed on this type of grass and how this grass and those animals, sustain many humans. I shake my head in the realization that my garden work is all about what I eat – not what the rest of the biosphere eats. Especially not the slugs, which routinely suck holes in my tender plants.

I move inside the fence and pull out more grass. The ground is loose and the roots are quickly removed. Even though I have done this work many times, I have the feeling that I am making progress. That somehow, I will become master over this evasive growth and that I will perfect some sort of method or plan that will keep it out of my garden perimeter.

I cover the damp beds with newspaper and hay, put away my tools and vow to start earlier tomorrow.