A little bit of neglect goes a long way

As I can't walk down my front walk nor bend to get the local weekly paper without getting an eyeful of neglected flower bed, I gathered what gardening enthusiasm I still have in late August and set out to pull weeds this morning.

Except there weren't any. Not really. Maybe a few. Instead, there were pecan trees and wandering jew, redbud, something with an orange root which I think is bois d'arc (Osage orange), a hickory (a HICKORY? Where did that come from?), hackberry, the wrong kind of lantana planted by me last year--my fault!, and my perennial favorite: poison oak. Or, is it, as my neighbor contends, really greenstick ash?

After an hour and a half, I didn't care. I do know I saved pulling the three-leaved items until the last so I could go in and wash my arms thoroughly with red Lifebuoy. I don't care if it is an old wives' tale told me 30 years ago by a certified old wife, the one time I got the pleasure of poison oak for two weeks is the one time I didn't wash with the soap.

But where did all these interloper plants come from? It's not like I had totally neglected... oh, well, maybe I had. It's been... six weeks? since I weeded.

I suppose that's true of everything, a little neglect goes a long way and then it takes so much more time to set it right, whether it be housecleaning, ironing, washing, relationships (egad!) or even gardening.