The Things Weeds Say
SPRING is a time of combat, at least here in suburban Pennsylvania. The greens are on the move. They are lush, vibrant and unstoppable. Lilacs, azaleas, verdant lawns and an infinitude of flowering plants fill our lungs with their sweet, restoring exhalations. But the weeds have returned too, amassed in military-style battalions with age-old strategies of invasion and conquest, some operating with sneak attacks or guerilla warfare, others blitzkrieg-ing entire neighborhoods within a few hours. They may have delicate and colorful flowers. They may be as fragrant as expensive perfumes, but they will spread and dominate all other plants if they get their way. They mean to conquer. In May, invasive vines would wrap their tendrils around our necks at night if we let them do what they naturally do and if we did not engage in backbreaking battles with them, like mariners in a storm holding the sails against the towering waves crashing over our heads. I have seen grape vine trying to get in our bedroom windows. I have told my husband that if I die before him, he must evacuate the property immediately. Otherwise he will be murdered by honeysuckle. I currently have Weed-Induced Cardio-Muscular-Skeletal Fatigue Syndrome. The people who defend weeds and say they should generally be left alone are barbarians with no appreciation for order and beauty. You cannot love some plants unless you hate others. We can't shoot weeds with guns unfortunately and we shouldn't…
