Yesterday I spent time working in my garden,
but rather than calming and rejuvenating my spirit, the work agitated.
Two words: Euonymus coloratus.
Years ago when I began landscaping the slope in my backyard,
a gardening expert recommended I plant Euonymus (yoo-on–uh-muhs)
and some evergreen-juniper-creeping stuff to prevent soil erosion.
Good news: the soil didn’t erode.
Bad news: the groundcover ran amok.
Last fall I removed the evergreens and yesterday I cut back tons of
Euonymus that’s choking out other plants.
It made me crabby knowing that all the sweat and effort and money
I’d put into my garden was literally being strangled by those shiny green stems and leaves.
Now I’m faced with several options:
a) cut back the Euonymus each and every year with the knowledge the roots will grow thicker
b) dig out the deeply rooted and pervasive Euonymus with the knowledge I’ll destroy other plants in the process
c) avert my gaze
All this got me thinking about writing, of course.
I just finished a major revision in which I killed off a character,
deleted an entire plot line, heavily revised two-thirds of the book,
and completely rewrote the last third.
I’m not afraid of hard work.
But I’ve realized that while I love gardening, I prefer it on a low maintenance level.
I like to putter around, but even more I enjoy sitting on my patio,
admiring the flowers. Watching the butterflies and listening to birds.
Moral of this story?
I’m keeping my day job.