I have discovered the best way to get rid of weeds is to weed. Ageless words of wisdom right there.

Man’s heart away from nature becomes hard.  ~Standing Bear

Why did I like this quote? Because really, during a stressful week at the DJ (day job), I find myself sort of day dreaming about weeding. Wait, shall we go back and read that again?…I find myself sort of day dreaming about weeding. You read that right, gentle reader, oh fan of the DaisyPatch, oh gardener with humor. My brain, when at its max, (that must have been the 9000’th time I had to look up, “Possessive its” on Google to see if I had to include the apostrophe. You’d think I would remember by now. I disgust myself.) dreams of crabgrass and chickweed and dandelions.

Let’s (I know the apostrophe goes there!) be honest here. I’m not dreaming about them in a lovely The-Hills-Are-Alive-With-The-Sound-Of-Music sort of way. I dream of ripping-them-out-from-the-roots-and-tossing-them-in-a-pile-where-they-bake-and-wither-in-the-sun-until-I-scoop-them-up-and-throw-them-into-a-mound-of rotting-compost sort of way. You know, garden violence. If you are a gardener, you know of that which I am speaking (writing. blogging. whatever).

Is that so wrong? There could be worse places to work out your aggression. (Like your dog, or the neighbor’s mailbox, or throwing rotten vegetables at the colonial-days-village-thief locked in the stocks in the town square (Man, wouldn’t it be great if they still did that? I would be ALL over that. I wouldn’t have tomato sauce. I’d have saved all 100+ pounds of tomatoes just for the throwin’.)) Where was I? Right. Weeding. I find it to be not only relaxing, but therapeutic. Not Therma-Rest-Pillow therapeutic cuz that is heaven right there, but therapeutic in its own way. Just sitting in the dirt, digging with a (now-gloved) hand, pulling out the unsightly vegetation and leaving behind the pretty, wanted things. I usually don’t listen to music and it takes a while sometimes for my mind to stop racing. (I am usually composing blog posts while I’m out there – you know- the garden is my muse after all.) (That was so extremely corny I am not sure if I will keep it there, but, the more I think about it, the more I lean toward leaving it in because, well, it’s true.) (Another “it’s.” Glad I looked that up again.)

Once the brain settles though, it’s kind of a zone. A good zone. Until my muscles ache so bad the next day that I walk like an arthritic 90-year-old. Then, it sort of sucks. But the zone time – yeah. That is usually good.