Euonymus

euonymus over an invasion of lilies of the valley

The big garden job this past month was clearing the weeds & grass that had invaded one of the garden beds. By weeds I mean things like violet, lily of the valley, ferns, crab grass & euonymus. Some of which are considered, by many, weeds but they are sure & steady infiltrators that can push out other plants.  They all spread with underground root systems which are virtually impossible to dig up completely. 

The euonymus was the last to go. It had climbed the fence &  had gone from ground cover, to vine, to insidious eyesore. I remember it was a freebie decades ago, a shoot that took quickly. The green & yellow leaves are pretty & the area of the garden I put it in was in need of colour. I let grow unimpeded for decades.

Late this spring I cut back the lily of the valley & violets & the various root systems of both were so intertwined I thought it was time to let go of the euonymus. It was impossible to plant in the area without dealing with the roots. Like the pandemic house purge, in which I let go of stuff: books, scrap paper, lumber, screws, clothes – that were all perfectly good but no longer served a purpose. So it was to do a garden purge too. 

The house purge resulted in empty spaces that I probably won’t fill. The garden purge doesn’t quite do the same thing as nature will constantly sprout things in empty spaces. The euonymus will be back – the will to live is unstoppable. It, & the violets, ferns & lilies of the valley will pop up were I least expect them to appear. In future I may be less tolerant.

In purging my writing archives I found many old poems, short stories whose roots are still resurfacing in my writing today. Those old hurts, old attitudes, old frustrations have grown, taken on new shapes. In the process of inputting some of those pieces I saw where I had changed for the ‘better’, where I had moved on, where I had let idolized teenage romantic fantasies continue unimpeded for decades.

euonymus bites the dust

My Back Yard

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I dig in my back yard

not a farmer tilling soil

to replenish the food supply

or even a fancy gardener

putting the exact right plant

into the perfect alkaline soil 

for maximum growth

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I dig

shove in whatever 

selective only as to color

I know a bit about shade plants

verses those that require full sun

but sometimes even then

I don’t care

let the plant do what it can

I’ve given it all the help I can

found a spot 

keep weeds at bay for a few weeks

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I dig

maybe a foot deep

you want that in metric

forget it

I’m not that deep

never deeper than a foot

sometimes

I come across 

roots of trees

sometimes bits of shale

rocks sand

once pieces of blue willow china

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I dig I plant

I water when necessary

but count on the sky

to provide rain

for his plant children

I stop to marvel at how deep they dig

at construction sites

centuries of strata revealed 

there is no bottom

glad 

when it gets covered over

tar the shameful flesh of the dirt

concrete the private parts

to keep them safe 

from further plundering lunging 

greedy construction

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I dig I plant

I enjoy washing the dirt off my hands

clean my finger nails

I feel connected

I even feel connected 

through concrete 

on the 20th floor

it doesn’t matter

the force of this earth

reaches to me

I feel safe surrounded in touch

yet when I am in a forest

any forest

I feel alien unwelcome 

hunted haunted

wondering 

if I dig here

what can I plant 

I dig I plant

eventually

I purge

July 2008

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