Yard work is a concept I had nearly forgotten.

See - I lived in apartments or townhouses from 1983 until this past June (with a brief interlude living in a house with my friends John and Lynn back in Greensboro. We had a lawnmower. No one was injured.)

Yard work has simply not been a part of my life.

Until now.

The thing is - I have found a meditative quality in the whine of the weed whacker, and a true sense of purpose whilst weeding the flower beds.

My flower beds.

My philosophy on weeding in the past was fairly simple: if something looked pretty I didn't pull it up. This practice led to some interesting "gardens" at many of my former abodes, but I rather liked them. One year we allowed one pretty plant to grow until it reached 8 feet in height and would attack anyone who walked near it.

Weeds in Gloucester are even more agressive and sentient. They are opportunistic in the extreme and have begun to organize (much like the clowns, only mostly without the big red noses and tiny cars) and they must be stopped. I have taken a hatchet to some of them - especially the ones covered with pointy bits.

But I still maintain that volunteer plants can be a good thing. I just didn't know that pokeberry plants grew to such lofty heights.

You know - come to think of it, I thought I heard Jimmy Hoffa outside my window the other night.....