The Thing about Weeds

(Microsoft Media)

Bruce had been wondering for a while whether it wouldn't be better to stop trying to get rid of weeds altogether.

When he had a closer look, therefore, at some of them last Sunday, out in the backyard, where his wife had sent him to do some weeding, and where he spotted every so many new islands of unasked-for green, he noticed that some of the so-called weeds actually had pretty little flowers, light violet ones for instance in one case.

Agreed, he told his wife when she joined him noticing from the kitchen window that he was just standing about without doing anything much, onions weeds are a nuisance, but then again, it's also a nuisance to keep having to rip them out.

He knew it was going to be hard convincing her that a change of attitude towards weeds might not be such a bad idea after all. It might even be a form of lateral thinking. Look, if you cannot efficiently get rid of weeds, turn them into a feature, or at least some of them.

(Microsoft Media)

And the "some of them" bit was exactly the point. If some of them have got nice flowers, why not just rip out the ugly ones and leave more space to fill for the prettier ones. They'll then take over all the space where we ripped out the ugly ones, fast as they, too, grow. And then we'll never have to spray herbicides that aren't good for the environment anyway, and costly on top of that. And we can skip thinking about regularly weeding the garden, too.

Besides, the prettier weeds are low-maintenance plants, in a way, aren't they, love? They pretty much look after themselves and need little care and attention, or water for that matter, and you can forget about the fertiliser, too. They'll be just fine.

(Microsoft Media)

On top of that you'll turn the garden into a nice Mediterranean paradise almost automatically, and without any particular effort or the need to buy or order new plants. The line between weeds and herbs is a blurred kind of field anyway. And, yes, there really are lovely weeds. Just look at them.

By the time he had finished painting his paradise of a garden in the most colourful of words he realised that his wife had gone back inside and that he had been left talking to himself. He was wondering, though, if she was having another look at that book she had order the other day: the little-water, low-maintenance garden, or something along those lines.