The earth in the garden has erupted with delicate fiddle heads that, as they emerge look just like the tops of elf-sized violins then day by day slowly unravel into broad fern leaves. Pure-yellow flowers that I have yet to identify are hanging like tiny suns on long, thin branches. Indian Plum leaf and bloom early and are already showing their unripened berries. Oregon Grape too are morphing from bud to berry. Salmon berries won't be too long for tasting but, the big beautiful, blackberry is a way off yet as is the weeks of harvest and the fermenting into the most decadent berry wine that has ever kissed my lips. But, wait its only spring!
Let us not dream of harvest when the wildflower seeds planted several weeks ago are only just starting to awaken into a hint of green patchwork in the flower beds and nooks and crannies around fence posts and wherever else we may have forgotten we sowed until they pop up and say "Hi"!
So, today I weeded the dandelions and thistles and saplings and wondered why we (and I, evidently) condemn the dandelion's flower and not the one bore from the aforementioned bush to whom it bears a striking resemblance? I am one who goes out of his way not to kill insects and spiders, I don't eat a whole lot of meat and I certainly understand I cannot survive on air and water alone. I practice live and let live as diligently as humanly possible. So, is it any less indulgent to pull tender roots from the ground than it is to step on an ant if it is too close to the front door? I guess that's the difference between a Forest and a garden, evolution and order, live or die by the will of Nature not Man.
I struggle with being the one who decides what gets to stay and what gets tossed into the compost bin. What I will nurture, water and watch grow and what I will yank out of the soil. What will live and what will not...
I think I prefer a Forest to a garden....