Lost in the Weeds

BEFORE the pandemic, every spring I ventured outside and jerked up all the new dandelion, blackberry vines, and globes of white clover that dared invade our yard. Those trespassers encroached on more “worthy” species—the precious tufts of fescue, my heirloom double pink roses, Greek oregano, and three fig bushes. But after COVID struck, and after more than a year of worry and grief, my heart softened.

This past March I peered a little closer at these once-loathsome plants. Dandelion wriggled among the river rock that I had spread to cover the bare red dirt beyond our deck, and in spite of the scant space and arid conditions, this hardy plant thrived. It soon sported golden flowers, and my heart surged with joy at the sight of so many tiny suns polka-dotting the yard.

Even my worst nemesis, creeping Charlie (or ground ivy), brought new charms. When I parted the scalloped leaves running through our apple orchard, for the first time I noticed dainty purple blooms that dangled