Blessed by the Church of Weeding
‘‘Look deep into nature,’’ said Albert Einstein, ‘‘and you will understand everything better.’’ In particular, you will understand the need for core strength, flexibility and an emergency stash of antihistamines in your First Aid kit, for nothing hurts quite like the morning after a weekend paying penance to dandelions, dog daisies and dock.
Weeding: it’s the ultimate act of divine intervention. You can see where you’ve been, and where you have yet to go. The empty bed behind, and the Lotus pedunculatus-infested path ahead. You see a large compost pile; I see the physical manifestation of a successful mindfulness session. When you’re doing it right, weeding can be much more satisfying than silent yoga retreats and taking a packet of felt pens to an adult colouring-in book. Indeed, an afternoon spent weeding can be akin to a religious experience, with a healthy dose of vitamin D on the side.
On this page a fortnight ago, I quoted a born-again Christian website in a column about sex education. A correspondent from Central Otago took offence at my disrespectful, disparaging tone: ‘‘There is a spiritual dimension to life which not everyone acknowledges. It is their free will choice,’’ she wrote. Just quietly, I took offence back, for I refuse to equate my own lack of religious belief with any deeper sense of spiritual poverty. Charity, kindness, respect, loyalty, honesty, empathy: these are not exclusively Christian ideals. They are – or should be – the fundamental tenets of a decent society.
As a nation, we’re no longer keeping the faith. In the 2013 Census, 41.9 per cent of New Zealanders reported no religious affiliation and that number is ever-increasing. Plus that figure doesn’t include the Jedi worshippers, All Blacks fans, pastafarians and craft beer drinkers in our midst, as Census officials refuse to formally recognise these cults.
I’m unlikely to ever pose for a passport photo with a colander – the kitchen utensil co-opted into the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster’s ecclesiastical heraldry – but lately I’ve been pondering the merits of founding my own Church of Weeding. This holy COW could facilitate the coming together of like-minded weekend warriors to pay it forward (you weed my bank and I’ll weed yours) or pitch in at community working bees. Instead of meeting each Sunday to sing hymns and atone for our sins, we could stockpile herbicides, sharpen our scythes and share recipes for sorrel pesto.
You may think I’m being facetious but when I’m weeding, I’m in my happy place. This may sound oxymoronic, that I feel most at peace when I’m busy murdering lots of other living things, but there’s something wonderfully contemplative about decluttering an overgrown garden in late summer.
Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it. Not only is it cheaper than a gym membership or hiring a hubby to do the job for you, weeding is calming, centering, life-affirming and intellectually stimulating. Or at least it is if you don a pair of headphones as well as wearing sturdy gardening gloves.
Just last weekend, while ripping out the self-sown forget-me-nots, bristly ox-tongue and wild brassicas in the bark mulch beneath my fruit trees, I worked my way through all the best podcasts from the 2016 Auckland Writer’s Festival.
I listened to Susie Orbach talk fondly of FIFI (her seminal book Fat is a Feminist Issue) and prayed that Hanya Yanagihara’s session came with spoiler alerts (I’m still only halfway through the 720 pages of A Little Life ).I laughed when Gloria Steinem reminisced about talking circles and consciousness-raising groups – ‘‘now we call them book clubs,’’ she quipped – while confessing that she has failed, twice, to master the art of meditation.
Then I screamed in outrage and threw my gloves to the ground. Not because of anything Steinem said but because while I was paying more attention to her words than my work, I accidentally plunged my right hand into the middle of a paper wasp nest.
Spirituality and suffering, I have now learned, often go swollen-handin-hand.
I've been pondering the merits of founding my own Church of Weeding. This holy COW could facilitate the coming together of like-minded weekend warriors...