April showers bring more weeds than flowers

When I drive around residential areas of Bremerton and see weedless flowerbeds with pretty flowers blooming in all of spring’s glory, I get irate. The more brilliant the colors, the more angry I get. All those gardens do is remind me that I can’t get control of my own yard.

Every spring, no matter where I live, I battle the forces of evil for control over my yard. Last year, the battle wasn’t hard because I lived in Jackson Park and it was professionally landscaped.


This year, we have our own abode and all I have are weeds, weeds, as far as the eye can see. I have hearty green, sprouty weeds. I have thick, healthy dandelions. I have gorgeous buttercups.

I don’t want any of them.

I want pretty tulips. I want roses. I want, I want, I want.

In the course of the last three weeks, I’ve put so many chemicals on my front yard it will likely end up in a 12-step program. The weeds wilted for a few hours — just long enough for me to gloat at them — then recovered. That which did not kill them just made them stronger.

I guess that saying is right.

I’ve plucked weeds out of my flowerbeds for hours. One Saturday I was out in my front yard for three hours doing nothing but pulling weeds. I enlisted my 3-year-old’s help by telling him if he helped me pull weeds I would give him chocolate pudding, as I am never above bribery.

He pulled two weeds, announced he was finished pulling weeds and rode his bike on the driveway while I did all the work.

Once I was finished, he reminded me that one weed and one weed makes two weeds, so he had fulfilled his duty enough to earn pudding.

I may as well have played with the kid instead of pulling weeds because before I could pull the top off his Snack Pack, the weeds already had grown back.

After the weed-pulling incident, I was desperate for help. I was even more desperate for a shortcut. So, like other desperate homeowners, I took a trip to the Lowes garden section. I described the weeds in my yard, then told the lady with the blue apron I was determined to kill them.

“I want them dead ... gone ... annihilated.”

The lady in the blue apron told me exactly what I didn’t want to hear. “You have to pull them out first,” she said.

I’m still seeking a second opinion.

Adding insult to injury, on my way out the door, I saw a lady with two shopping carts full of potted flowers ready to be planted into the ground. Her flowers were likely be nine feet tall by the time I conquer my weed infestation.

I figure by the end of the summer, I will have either won the battle or lowered my standards. I hear the “uncontrolled jungle” look is all the rage this year. Or at least it is in my yard.

For now, I’ll just keep pulling away.

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