The garden – that winsome spot that heals the soul while it breaks the back. One of the things that sold STG and I on our Love Nest was the terraced rock garden. It is a place to labour and to relax, a source of both food and of beauty.
If only it wasn’t laced with weeds. Insidious grasses twine under the soil, creeping, spreading, matting, and choking. Brambles stab, slicing open fingers eager to uproot them, grasping onto sleeves and pant legs and anything else that comes near fighting to continue their slow murder of the plants we tenderly nourish.