Pretty Lynne Writes

There are days when my garden is sunny and green. The flowers in the corner are bright pink; I planted them there the first time I had something published and people called me a writer. Some sunflowers in the side yard by the fence are a compliment someone paid me about my sunny personality. The trees in my garden have grown tall; just as I have learned to stand on my own, to flourish, to branch out into new accomplishments, these trees stretch towards the sun, and provide shade and shelter. I planted some grasses that swish and sing in the wind, a reminder of the joy and freedom I feel and cherish. The ground here is fertile and rich. 

There are other days when I can’t see the flowers for the weeds. 

This stringy plant is the “why are you crying” planted by a man in my early days. Another man planted a tall, sharp weed called “perseverating” that cuts me at times, especially when I feel anxious. A girl I went to school with carelessly dropped some seeds that germinated into “you’d be prettier if you…” and goddamn, that’s an invasive species, because it has kept being fertilized by people over the years. 

The garden is bordered by weeds that snarl and sing “too much, too much, too much,” and those ones are deep into the ground, intertwined with orange flowers that are enough for anyone and would be welcome. Untangling the two is tricky at the best of times. 

In the middle of the garden, there is a spot filled with mulch. It’s dark and smells earthy and fetid. That’s the spot I’ve been burying my feelings over the years. They were not welcome on display in my home, so I didn’t learn to plant them and nourish them until more recently. The mulch remains, however, telling me to cover them up and not let anyone see them. 

Recently, a gardener I know told me that I didn’t have to water these weeds that other people left in my garden. She said I can actually just pull them out of the ground to make way for the more beautiful and useful plants I’d rather have. So I picked one, to begin: the one called “perseverating.” The man who planted it there knew it would hurt me. He dressed it up in some pretty leaves, so it felt like he was doing me a kindness. Beneath, the sharp edges of the plant have kept me looking for assurances from the wrong places. 

I put on my gardener’s gloves, thick and made from a fabric that protects my hands, and rooted out perseverating, dumping it into the wheelbarrow at my side, to be burned later. I may not have got all of it; these weeds are tricky and if you don’t get the whole root, they will come back. But I remind myself that I didn’t plant that in my garden, and if I need to pull it again, I will. 

When the darker days come, I sit in the garden and look at all of the weediest places and feel a bit defeated. 

But, I am learning something about gardening. Even the best gardeners have weeds in their gardens. It’s best not to get too hung up on whether the garden is free from weeds but to accept that weeds are part of the process. Tending my garden is really about planting more beautiful things, so that eventually, there is less space for the weeds to take root. 

I am learning not to let other gardeners drop these noxious things into the soil here. 

And sunny days will always come. They always do.