Wading through the jungle
A forest? A jungle? A swamp? Tangling myself in the thorns of the overgrown garden, wading through flooded mud and trampling over beds of weeds, I felt like I was Bear Grylls navigating an undiscovered terrain in search of a way back to civilisation.
Unlike the TV presented, I hadn’t landed into this sea of weeds from a helicopter, nor would I need to drink my own urine or catch a snake to eat, I was weeding my garden as winter approached and the plants had given up for the year and had wilted into hibernation or in the case of the fig tree had shed all its leaves down to its bare bones. The only inhabitants who were still active enough in this cold were the ugly weeds, not even the chance of having pastel coloured wild flowers stopping in the garden for a season.
Some had taken over the void left by the earth, or the gaps in between the stones to grow into gargantuan ugly clumps of green turning brown, while the more nimble of weeds were hiding like terrorists taking people hostage in and amongst the civilian courgette or onion plants. Only an avocado plant and an emerging plum tree, grown under aquaponics, were timidly standing upright, surrounded by the weed enemy, while the leaning tower of tomato plants were stubbornly deciding not to change the colour of their offspring from unripe green to fleshy red.
Like a baby attached to its mother’s dress, the weeds were well and truly tied to the ground. My scissors wouldn’t do, my hands would be insufficient, there was only one option — to borrow a weed cutter from Library of Things…