“This is a rhizome”. I loosen the dirt as it is pulled, gently coaxing sixteen inches of blue grass out of the garden. The little nodes with the new growth are shown to my grandaughter. “These are baby grasses”. I show her the fractals of Blue Grass, how the nodes are spaced the same and how they all look alike. I show her where the rhizome has grown into the Rose.
Her whole life will be filled with gardening. There will be a diligence to watch the ground for weed nodes inching in. She will tug and pull. She will have mixed in the jewels of her crown Blue Grass and she will prick herself on her own thorns as she tries to coax them out, as she has today near the garden Rose.
The Rose is pulled out. If watched closely you can see how the neighbouring Sedums have been disturbed. If you listen closely you can hear the snap of it’s tap and the ripping sound as the finer roots are yanked clear. I soak it in a bucket and remove all the dirt and then, when all that gives it life is but murk in a bucket, I carefully remove the grass.
The Rose is restored to its home with great care but it will take the whole summer for it to feel again the touch of the Sedum. It will take the whole summer for the soil to compact to what it was and she can once again draw deep from the dirt her needed sustenance. The grass at least is gone.
cute little gloves
she learns of tares in wheat
tears and weeps