Weeds

I've been busy lately: children, painting, gardening. Lots of gardening. Early May is the time of year that our garden begins to look spectacular, with flowers everywhere. Also there are weeds everywhere.

I've made an heroic effort to keep the weeds under control, but it takes more than one person to hand-weed three-quarters of an acre. A few weeks ago Isaac and I were sitting on top of our hillside after pulling some especially tall weeds, and I asked him, "Are we ever going to get all the weeds pulled?"

"No," Isaac said. "There just isn't enough time." I nodded in agreement. Then he added thoughtfully, "Well, you don't have enough time. I might, though, since I'm younger than you."

Yes, one lifetime isn't enough, and it is the limit of my own mortality that will prevent me from ever completing the task of weeding my yard. I'll have to pass the task on to the next generation.

- - - - -

I think this is one of the first few times Isaac has discussed my eventual death; he didn't seem worried about his assumption that I would die before him.

It's still quite an abstract concept to him, thankfully. Tonight at dinner he said, "Why don't they make compost out of dead people?"