Like with all my love relationships, life with you has sometimes been complex. Sure, I’ve yanked you out of the ground. But, in my defense, I’ve never sprayed you with toxic chemicals. But sometimes love means you don’t talk enough about how you feel. I’m sorry, weeds. I plan to correct that in this letter.
I really do appreciate you, weeds. For starters, without you, what passes for lawn at my house would consist only of barren wasteland punctuated by a few tufts of weakly green. I really don’t like grass, weeds. It is fickle and temperamental and oh-so-needy. As a matter of fact, I plan to embark on a de-lawning program so that the whole left side of the house can be bushes and flowers and none of the thirsty grass that wilts like a wimp on a hot summer’s day.
But you, weeds, you are not needy. You are positively tenacious, growing no matter how I neglect you. No water? Like a pioneer in the desert, you hang on. No fertilizer? Bah! Fertilizer is for sissies. You, weeds, you grow with the wild abandon of a thing that loves life. I appreciate that about you so very much.
Learning to live with someone means compromises, weeds, and, let’s face it, I’ve never been great with that. But, with you, I’m trying. Really. I wish we could make a little deal that I’ll let you have the lawn if you’d just stay away from my flowers. I know we have to accept each other as we are, but, honestly weeds, you just soak up all the sunlight and crowd them out. Couldn’t you just stick to the lawn?
No love letter is complete without a promise. Weeds, I promise I will try to appreciate you more. That I will yank you out of the ground less. That if it’s absolutely possible, I will leave you where you stand, hearty and brave and hopeful.
But, pretty please, weeds, just not the irises, okay?