For the past two weeks I’ve been working to regain some control of my backyard. While Hubby and I walked across Spain, the trumpet vine, some nameless vine, and the privet used my absence to cover distance and establish new growth in my Garden of Weedin’.

Did you know trumpet vine can grow between 30 and 40 feet in one season?! (I’m picturing the 15-foot depth–the deep end–of my hometown swimming pool which seemed unfathomable. These vines laugh at such shallowness.) The vines were well on their way to seasonal potential when I gathered them, some 10-12 feet in length, and dug up roots that snaked along for 5-6 feet just below the surface. Some vines had shimmied up the side of our barn, and as I pulled them down, I heard their aerial roots screaming, holding onto barn siding. Okay, maybe not literal screaming, but definitely ripping because splinters of barn came off with them.

I’d tried training the mother vine on a trellis because hummingbirds love the flowers and it really can make a pretty backdrop or privacy wall, but she took advantage spreading roots and ‘wings’ so this year she had to go. Other than pop-up sprigs scattered around, the vines that blocked out the sun and strangled other plants are gone. Getting rid of them exposed the next yard menace–privet.

Supposedly privet makes a great hedge. Supposedly it can grow up to 2 feet in a season. I beg to differ on both supposedlies. In order to create a hedge, one would have to confine it to some kind of orderly form. Privet is an invasive plant, spreading by both seeds and runners. There is no confinement. And I’m pretty sure I’ve had a sapling grow more than two feet in a year. That sapling next to the deck in the photo is over 3 feet and it was barely there when we left for Spain. The tree is what can happen even if saplings are cut. The stack of ‘branches’ in the photo are actually roots I dug up, some 6” in diameter, that will find their way into the fire pit because they’re solid wood. Each one had ‘birthed’ several small saplings of their own creating a forest suitable for gnomes. That lush carpet of green is a solid patch of individual privet shoots. They’ll come out easily but still …

As I pulled up hundreds–the only way to stop their growth–there was a sense of futility because as long as the trees are still there, they’ll come back. (We have two trees that are coming down.) Then I reminded myself, but at least these shoots won’t continue to grow and produce, and the more I pull, the more roots and runners come up along with them, so I’m slowly getting rid of them. Slowly.

But my weeding is no longer just a ‘it-takes-no-thought’ activity that moved me through my post-travel haze. I’m seeing the metaphor in it again. Pulling privet shoots are like the edits I need to make on the novel manuscript, the tedious work of looking at every-single-word and deciding whether to pull it or not. I’m excited getting back to it.

Reflecting on how pervasive and how quickly the vines and privet take over, brought to mind our political climate and how quickly and pervasive our actions take hold. I thought of social media and how each post or tweet is like one tiny baby privet that alone is no big deal, but there’s never just one. And I thought how each of us has the ability to choose what we plant.

My friend and fellow poet, Julie Ann Cook’s first full-length collection of poetry is titled, Love Like Weeds. In the title poem she writes about the strength, persistence, and resiliency of weeds, and ends the poem, “… And may your love resist//pulling, revive and thrive despite./May you love like weeds/with a love like weeds.”

I have a potted lilac that was also neglected for six weeks. I’ve had it for several years, intending to plant it once I picked the right spot. This spring it bloomed even in the pot and getting it in the ground before I left was one of the things on my ‘To Do List’ that didn’t get done. When we returned, it was basically a potted dead bush. I watered it anyway. Two days ago, beautiful bright green leaves appeared. A reminder to keep nurturing goodness and clinging to hope even when they appear dead.

I took another quick trip involving a plane two weekends ago, but not a passport–thank goodness (that’s another story!)–and will tell you about that on Monday. May this week bring all of us cooler temps and temperaments.

If you want to read Julie’s full poem and the other wonderful poems in the book, it’s available through Main Street Rag Publishing, Love Like Weeds.