I was like a kid in the sandbox. On my hands and knees pulling any crab-grassy, thorny, prickly growths from my new garden beds and pathways.
Despite my appreciation for the beauty of some weeds and respect for their purposes, it felt so good to remove things that had the potential to hurt me during my backyard meanderings. Some had deep roots. I even thought for a minute one might be a carrot. But I dug my fingers deep in the ground, and pulled them out, feeling accomplished and elated.
I related the pesky growths to wounds of my past. Despite the chance of getting my nails dirty or broken, I pulled out any remnants of hurtful words, actions, or patterns of the past along with the weeds.
I told my mother, who is visiting this week, how happy I was to have the grubbery gone so I can prance around barefoot in my own backyard without fear of getting hurt.
“Or, you could wear shoes,” she said.