As I write the words, I realize they may land some readers here who aren’t expecting to read about weeds.
This week I am alone at the West Madison research garden, weeding the grapes. Nine rows of them, each 100 meters long and three feet wide. I didn’t even notice the weeds until I got down in there. Now I have become an expert in the root structure of each one, even while I have names for none of them save the dandelion.
At times the weeding puts me into a trance.
And then after minutes of struggling I pull up a big fat dandelion, and the satisfaction floods me for an instant. The aforementioned Oh. That dopamine cycle is a killer, though. Got to have more and more; it takes a bigger and bigger weed to satisfy it. Else I start to get twitchy, and look down the row to see how much longer to the end.
The recurring thought, as I weed, is that I have made the rows look like crazed ground squirrels moved in.
Nut nut nut nut wheres the nutnut buried it here near somewhere what’s this nut? not a nut? surely theres a nutnutnut fuck i’ll show these vines stealing my nuts nut tunnel underem find all the nuts.