Weeds in the Garden
By: Hector Perez
Tags: Society, Religion, Morality

“Roll down the windows and smell the orange trees”. This was probably the best advice that my dad ever told me. I remember I was driving East through Arizona as the California sun was setting behind me. He told me about how one time he worked in the orange fields in Arizona to earn some cash that would help him pay for med school. He told me that in spite of all the arduous labor what stuck with him the most was the refreshing smell of azaleas.

Life ran its course, I got married to one of the most amazing women that has ever set foot on Earth, had kids (just as amazing as her, but please don’t tell them that!), and bought a house. But with the daily hustle of both having demanding jobs, commutes, and young kids, we didn’t really devote much time to our backyard. It was not until last year (seven years later) that my wife and I decided to put a little bit more effort into it, so that our girls could have a nice area to play in the evenings and where we could just have a nice relaxing time as a family.

This was in part motivated by my father’s passing a few months earlier, who was an avid horticulturist. So, in his honor we planted an orange tree. Little by little we started growing a little garden, with some marigolds, cucumbers at one point, foxtails, and others. There were many different plants, all a different size, a different color -they all required different care- but all them painted a pretty picture in our garden.

The orange tree planted in memory of my father.

But then again, our busy schedules kicked in and we stopped paying close attention to it. As I mowed the grass I noticed some weeds growing in the garden. But I did not make too much of it as we had put some of that black fabric, weed killer, and mulch to prevent them from growing. The weeks passed and Spring came along with its refreshing colors, joyful bees, new sprouts, the dreadful allergies, evening showers, lizards, spiders, and of the little things that remind us of the magnificence of nature, and the virtuosity of life.

Strangely, I did notice that the weeds have not only stopped growing, but they had been spreading and growing in between our plants, which we had so carefully and effortfully planted together as a family.

I decided to pull them out remembering how my grandfather always used to say that “the weed must be pulled from the root.” I started by yanking them out, which was successful at first but in many cases only the stem would be trimmed, leaving the root alive and ready to sprout again. The worst kind were the ones that grew in between the plants. I realized that if I followed the same technique I would take out the weed, but I would end up hurting the plant itself.

So, I opted for taking them out carefully, by pulling them with just the right amount of force to be able to take them out from the root. Once I understood the right way to pull out the weed it wasn’t difficult, but it did take me a few hours to be able to do the entire garden.

Of the entire experience, what struck me the most was when my eight-year-old daughter put on her garden gloves and began to help me out. I could see how concerned she was about the plants. The feeling evolved and turned into frustration, despair, and exhaustion.

She was not alone as I was going through the exact same emotional path. By the end my knees were swollen, the back aching, and I got some sunburn too. Once we were done we took a step back and looked at the work we had done. The garden looked in the best shape it had ever been. To be frank, I don’t know because we had done the job perfectly or the feeling of satisfaction that completing an arduous labor leaves on you. One thing is certain, though, we had cleaned out our garden, the plants looked more beautiful than before, and we were able to admire the orange tree and smell the azaleas.