vengeance

It was a day like no other, as they all are, because they are all different. Even if I had tried to do something just like I had done the day before it wouldn’t work. This is because when something is done, it’s done – I could strive to do something similar though.

This day of reference was a day that I did something similar to things that I have done on other days, inasmuch as I went outside. This was not an excursion to just look around and be amazed at God’s creation, although that is what I do during each trip outdoors, this time I had a goal in mind. This goal was to continue the efforts at un-brambling the garden and surrounding areas – or maybe that should be de-brambling.

This was a day, or more closely defined, an afternoon, of vengeance on the border of our property that seems to always get overgrown with brambles, scrub trees and vines. My weapon of choice for the day was a long-handled shovel with a straight, narrow blade – Frank by name. Frank still has a bad handle but is willing to work as long as it holds out. His back up is Dmitri, the landscaping axe, but as it turned out he was not needed, but just the threat of him being nearby was enough to send chills through these trespassing plants.

My defensive equipment was work gloves with gauntlet cuffs to minimize the thorn-inflicted injuries. My large garden cart was brought along to carry off the dead and dying plant carcasses – and then the fray was joined. This event could have been a fracas by definition, except the noises involved were too minimal.

These noises would be my occasional slight vocal wince on the meeting of thorn to skin and the slight ripping noise of roots as they unwillingly lost their grip on the earth. In my imagination there would also be the pitiful plant pleas and cries as their roots gasp for dirt – I guess you had to be there.

On a slight (or sleight) excursus – or digression (it’s hard sometimes to tell the difference – he said with a huge inward silly grin) – I have just finished consuming some vanilla yogurt in concert with ‘Double Stuf’ Oreos. My dilemma of thought is from wondering whether the healthiness of the yogurt is enough to offset the ‘alleged’ unhealthiness of the Oreos – the number of Oreos consumed will not be discussed.

Back to the subject at hand - the merciless plant slaughter. The vengeance was not all one-sided as evidenced by the puncture wounds and slight loss of red bodily fluid from locations just above the gauntlets of the work gloves. Also, much to my chagrin, I was swatted, in a thorny manner, across the face by one of the larger and more vicious brambles. It seems that this plant took very personally its dislodgement from the soil.

Also ripped up were some vines, tree weeds (large woody growths) and a few early weeds. All the aforementioned plants were then carted off and piled in the place of other combustible material. And when they reach the proper condition of desiccation, they will be encouraged (by a match) to reduce themselves to an ash.

As an aside, he is shaking his head in wonderment at the amusing and wonderful words that have recently come into his knowledge and usage. Having taken his vengeance for the day, he returns to the inside of his residence to rest up for future battles that are bound to come because the brambles and weeds never give up.

The evil one, being a cultivator of thorns and weeds in the spiritual sense, also never gives up. But the Master Gardener, with our consent, is able to keep these soul wounding things out of our life – and for that I am grateful. ec