The Joy of Making My (Garden) Bed

I vanquished the last of the invading host of weeds in Smith, my plot in the community garden.  The mild winter and early spring had provided the ideal conditions for those pernicious plants to slowly, steadily grow and thrive, sending shoots and suckers and roots and rhizomes, little sturdy, weedy arms and legs, out in a hundred directions.  Three weeks ago when I first started preparing this plot, you could not see poor Smith for the weeds.  He didn’t just have a mere, green, five o’clock shadow, oh no.  The poor soul was blessed with a full, thick verdant beard of plants that did not belong.  I was sorry to see the graceful lines of the two arced garden paths completely obliterated, the three sections of raised bed they demarcate blending together under a thick, wavy sea of green.

I was appalled at the ugly mess but also secretly thrilled.  Pulling thick weeds from a garden in the spring is one of my favorite gardening tasks.  So odd to enjoy it, but I do.   After my work today, the third or fourth round of clearing the garden, Smith is now ready for plants and seeds.  In fact, I’ve already planted 15 cauliflower plants,  seeded beets, parsnips, turnips, onions, leeks and peas, plus set in about 40 cloves of garlic.  Though I love the look of the garden now with its newly turned black soil mixed with rotted leaf mulch, I’m secretly sorry this job is done.

Here’s how I pull weeds in an early spring garden.  First, I loosen the soil with a garden fork, tipping a hunk of it back to lift and loosen the plants from the soil that clings to them.  When I have freed up a section of those green nasties, I get down on my knees and rip up, bare handed, clod after weed-infested clod smashing each on a rock or the garden fork.   Thus I reclaim the soil for happier plants, the tomatoes and peppers, sweet potatoes and squash and such I will soon set into the bed.

What is it about clearing a garden that appeals to me?

I like the productive, raw physicality of the task.  I like exercise in which I can accomplish something and pulling weeds is a great example.  I am nostalgic for a life I never lived, that possibly never even existed in which the work I do would accomplish survival tasks while keeping me fit and healthy.  I suppose if such a time existed, like fifty or a hundred or more years ago and I was faced with the daily toil, I might not like it as I imagine I would.  But earning my bread mostly sitting at a desk as I do now, I’m glad to vigorously pull weeds contributing to my survival and health.

I like that this work engages my senses.  I love the feel of cool damp soil on my hands and knees, the wispy tickles of weeds on my arms and legs, the sweat dripping down my brow, my neck, my back.  I breathe in, gratefully, the smell of raw earth and bruised plants and even, from time to time, bite down on wild garlic or mint, letting the savory taste fill my mouth.

I like the task’s triumph.  I always win the battle.  I wade into those weeds and show them who’s boss.  And now, I can stand back and look at my handiwork and know the satisfaction of working hard to defeat that army of green marauders.  All I could wish for would be to have both a clean, fluffy garden ready to plant, and more weedy ground to conquer.  I’m sorry when the job is done because it is so satisfying.

So goes gardening and so goes living: I’m torn between the joy of the journey and the joy of the journey’s end.  I want both but should probably be satisfied with whatever mix any particular moment brings.  I love making my bed but I also like lying in it, planting vegetable and flower plants and seeds to nourish and beautify.  After today’s work, the balance is tipped away from mass weeding and toward gardening, all told, not a bad trade-off.