Weeds

I had been helping Kirsten weed her community garden, a distasteful task for me. I think we should use some late 20th century herbicide free techniques to keep the weeds down: black plastic garbage bags, carefully layered over the soil, but with holes to let the good guys out, a technique taught to me by Chris Wrobel, my farmer friend. But K likes to weed.

And last night, I had a dream that this weed came back. A stinging weed that she thought was strawberries: it had grown ginormous and I was tasked to get it out, which is how I learned it was a stinging weed. So I used a pitchfork. So here is this weed in my dream, and I pinned it against a metal grate with my heel and cut the roots off it with a machete. Very satisfying.

Metal grate: could this have been a visual import from Terminator Two, that took us four days to watch this past week? Remember the liquid metal man who could squeeze through grates? Can't wait to see Terminator Four. But I digress.

It was a great dream. Not exciting, but very satisfying.