Over the last week or two, St. Louis received a fair dumping of snow along with highs in the single digits and lows sinking well below zero. It has made me yearn for springtime. Once February rolls around, I'm over winter. Really, I'm over winter immediately after the holidays are over. The holidays make it bearable, but once it's all over, there's not much else. It's painfully cold and depressingly gray for another two months. February is the worst, however. While it may be the shortest month, it's also the month that really doubles down on the winter weather here in St. Louis. So, when March arrives, I welcome it with outstretched arms. Also, I'm beginning to take a liking to spring as the years go on. Growing up, summer was always the best. Long days and no school. That was really what made it special, but there's so much I could list that made me love summer (and still do). Fall was always great, too. I developed more of an appreciation of it as I grew older. I liked the colors, the smells, the weather cooling off without turning cold, and, once I reached a certain age, the taste of a Schlafly Pumpkin Ale (the best pumpkin ale in my opinion). Spring, however, has become a wonderful time to me. I was married in spring, my daughter was born in spring. Winter and all it's grayness is fading away. The air gets warmer, the days get longer, and I know that summer is just around the corner.
Why am I talking about all this? Why ramble on about seasons? Because, even though it's been colder than Dante's Ninth Circle of Hell, the temperatures are rising back to warmth. I know that February is fading and with it winter. March is almost here. Now, there have been years past where there's snow in March and even in April here in St. Louis, but...I'm holding onto hope. So with those rising temps I'm already thinking about the garden. Building it back up and planting new plants. There's a lot of work ahead after the threat of cold is over, but I'm excited to get back out there. It was a little something to do and I miss it.
With the thinking and the planning, I've also thought about last year when I made those beds into a thriving little garden of herbs, tomatoes, and peppers. It took time, and it was about this time last year I bought a shovel and hand spade to clear out the dead weeds. Many of the weeds were easy to pull out. Grab and tug. Easy enough. But, there was this "tree" thing that was less than simple to remove. Now, I have no idea what it was, but I see these little guys sprout up in my flower beds from time to time. They seem harmless enough at first. If I catch them early enough, I can use the ol' "grab and tug" technique and pull them out. If they get any bigger than a sprout, that's when the real struggle begins. See, these things grow nasty, deep root systems and if I let them go long enough, they become a nightmare to pull up, even if the plant above is seemingly small.
So, there was one in particular that had made it's residence for...quite some time. It had grown into a fairly large plant. And I had trimmed it a few times the first couple summers we were here, but I couldn't just do that. As long as that root is there, it'll grow right back, unfazed by trimming it or even cutting it down. So, I knew I would have to dig down deep and get at the roots. I took my shovel and small pruning shears, and...went to work.
Of all the weed pulling I did on that fairly warm, sunny day in late February, this guy took the most time. I started digging, and realized this guy had a deep and intricate root system with thick roots, and I mean THICK. So thick in fact that I had mistaken one long, bright yellow root at first as some sort of cable or pipeline. And that was just one. So I dug, and snipped, and pulled, and dug some more. Finally, after who knows how long, I snipped enough of this "bulb" looking main root where the main stem was attached that I was able to remove it completely. The other roots that stemmed off it...well, most went very deep and with a wide radius. At that point I didn't have the time or energy left to really dig out everything. But that main root, the massive shoot of whatever weed this was, was finally removed. It felt like removing a cancerous tumour. I dumped it into the yard waste bin then covered the hole, satisfied with the work I had done. Since then, I have not seen the tree or any sprouts. I think I pulled out the main hub of the plant and it couldn't, at the very least, grow back.
I tell this story because, as I've done for the last year, I've been thinking a lot. I think about the emotions I've felt and worked through this last year. I think about friendships that changed, or dissolved, or that have generally hurt and disappointed me. I think about disappointments with job prospects, having to be the one who always tries to reach out and get any sort of response or feedback, positive or negative. I think about times when I get annoyed with my wife, or frustrated with my daughter because all of these external stressors that have made me less patient and gracious. At times, I don't want to give the same love or respect back to others because they haven't done the same for me. I don't feel like I owe it. Yet, that is not at all the right response. It's a reactionary response, and an emotional one. A response that is more "eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth". One that is less mature and lacks any sort of self control.
About December I hit a breaking point. I was tired, and not a "I'm sleepy" sort of tired. A deep tired, as I have described it to some people. An exhaustion of mind and spirit. A tired and broken heart. It was like having a fresh wound, a deep gouge, and every time a breeze would blow, the wound would sting. In any other circumstance, I would easily forgive small, trivial instances of uncourteous behavior. But having that wound, made those instances all the more irritating and painful.
After breaking and hitting that wall, I thought about my garden. I thought about that warm day last year at the end of February. I remember pulling, digging, cutting and fighting with that weed. It was large. It was deep. It was unchecked for a few years. It's like the anger. It's like the hurt. I allowed for my hurt, my annoyance, my frustration to dwell here in my being. I made it acceptable to live here. Now I realize, in order to plant a garden, I need to get down on my hands and knees and rip it out of the ground. I need to hack and slash to pull it out so good things, fruitful things, can grow here again.
Thinking all this made me realize that the only thing we are truly responsible for and can honestly work on with honest hard work is our own gardens. We choose what grows there, not someone else and their actions. We choose whether or not to pull the weeds. We choose what flowers, what vegetables, what fruits grow there. There will always be weeds, that is a fact. After I planted and spring was in full throttle, weeds came. Little weeds, and they were easy to pull up. Along with pulling weeds, we need to water. Rain and weather we cannot control. But we can fill a watering can and give our plants a drink. We can control the soil, add compost and fertilizer. This metaphor can go on and on, honestly, but I believe the point has been made. We cannot control weather, weeds, or pests. We also cannot control what our neighbor does with their garden. We can only choose what to do with our garden.
Now, I say all of this but that doesn't mean I'm completely enlightened and have pulled all the weeds out of my metaphorical garden. Far from it. Right now, I simply realize that the garden is overgrown with nasty weeds and has been for some time. Weeds with roots that dive deep into the soil. Weeds that cannot be simply pulled, but rather need to be dug and cut out. There's a lot of changes in my way of thinking I need to make. Changes in my attitude. A few hard conversations I will inevitably need to have so that my garden can thrive again. The day will eventually come when the garden will be cleared and the plants will be watered and pruned.
With that, I encourage you all to do the same. Be thankful. Remember to tend to your own garden for your own wellbeing. You cannot control everyone or every circumstance, but you can control yourself and your response, which may end up being influential.
