Ode To My Lovely Weeds

Since my body flatly refuses to cooperate with me as far as the whole baby-making campaign goes, I've been desperately seeking ways to exert control over other aspects of my life--as though it will make up for how out of control I feel otherwise. I've tried my husband as my main target, but he has this annoying habit of having his own opinions. In the past, my eyebrows have born the brunt of my controlling tendencies, but ever since my friend Kate suffered what we simply call "The Accident," I've practiced some restraint there. Fortunately, with the advent of a gorgeous spring, I've found a new project that seems to fulfill my desire to control something: my garden, otherwise known last summer as The Weed-Infested Mess. Did you know that, early in the spring, it is possible to see what is actually growing in there? I've spent every afternoon this last week out in the dirt, delightfully yanking up weeds that dare to poke their little heads through the soil. It's wonderfully satisfying, and not at all unlike plucking one's eyebrows. I shuffle along the garden on my knees, loosening the soil with my little rusty trowel, and then pulling out the offending weed with a shake. One tiny problem is that I'm basically unable to distinguish between weeds and potential perennials, but I am unhindered. If nothing at all grows this year, I'll start from scratch with a little faith, and the most beautiful flowers I can find.