WEEDS

In the backyard, I’m digging out this year’s crop of unwanteds. In particular, wild mustards delighted in our unusual number of winter and early spring rains. You can find mustards all over the city, and especially in my backyard.

In previous years, we’ve had volunteer larkspurs which I’ve protected until their lovely blue blossoms faded away. I haven’t found a one this year.

Before beginning, I tasted a mustard leaf. It wasn’t nearly as bitter as I expected. Hmm. Unlike those questionable mushrooms that popped up in a raised bed, I could eat them.

Nah.

I began slaughtering weeds, using a shovel and large collecting bucket, dumping mustard carcasses in a heap against the back wall where they’ll compost themselves. 

But yesterday I let an inspector in through the side gate, apologizing for the weeds there. After he left, I decided to work in that area before anyone else used the gate.

Those mustards had been more pampered, with shade, and moisture. They were taller, with bigger leaves. I collected a bunch and carried the mess into the kitchen where I stuck them in a bucket. Later, I trimmed off the best looking leaves, washed and bagged them, and dumped the stalks.

I ate some this morning along with an egg. A little tough, but okay. Maybe chopped up in a stirfry next?

Which brings to mind the two oak trees in our front yard that spill so many acorns every year. One time an escaped pig settled in under the chinquapin oak (she knew which acorns were the sweet ones) and was chomping away until we got her removed.

People are starving in the world. Why not consume them ourselves? I’ve thought of trying them more than once, but . . .

Other weedings:

Weeding in the library used to be one of my favorite jobs—culling the unwanted, the battered, the overly-loved books to make room for new titles.

As a writer, I hang onto far too many bits of paper. I’m currently weeding out notes to myself, early drafts, ideas, etc. . . .

And then there’s always junk mail . . .