My dad at about 15, looking a little weedy himself.
It's especially gratifying to pull up the weeds with deep roots. Pulling creeping charlie satisfies in a different way: I'll follow their wimpy little entrails wherever they've crept thus far. I got nothin but time, at least for the moment and as far as I know. But the sturdy-yet-innocent-looking weed -- the one that requires more of a tug than expected, the one that intended to stay for the duration, despite my big plans for basil and tomatoes -- that's the weed that gives me such pleasure to pull. And the earthworm that's exposed in the process? "Churchy, it's dinner time." Read More
