One bed. Of the three, just one. That was my task – to weed that one bed. I started with the easiest – a third full of gourds just now going green, climbing the fence, threatening to make it to the chicken coop by the time their stems dry in September’s last warm days.
Weed this one bed.
So I started – pulling the biggest pieces, the long stems of red with bright green leaves, Christmas plants but without sparkle or thorns – among the gourds.
Then, I took to the watermelon, spotting the three inches of one perfect, tiny. Grass tugged out. Then to the scape that was spaghetti squash, mostly gone to rotten before it was ripe. Here, I need a hoe.
I tap hard on the tool shed door. Here, we have learned that our buddies the black snakes like doored spaces.
[Read the rest over at my writing blog, Andilit.]