Enjoying the Weeds
My husband Drew and I moved onto the two-and-a-half-acre heirloom raspberry farm that we still call home right before 4th of July weekend in 1984, which makes this coming week our 40th anniversary of putting down roots that still remain strong.
From the first day the two of us city kids from Manhattan took over the farming operation after a quick tutorial by the outgoing farmer, we knew that keeping the plants healthy and well-nourished was our primary responsibility. This included removing weeds that vied for nutrients and sunlight, which was a never-ending job. Every time I saw a weed, I saw something that needed to be eliminated.
Myra and Drew in the early days of Earthbound Farm—circa 1988
Now, four decades later, I’ve been surprised by how much I’m enjoying the large assortment of weeds that grow on our farm. For the first time, I’ve been able to look at them with fresh eyes devoid of prejudice, and suddenly I can see how pretty they actually are. As I take our two dogs on their daily walks around the farm, I look closely at the weeds and appreciate their unique characteristics and how they embody wildness and burst with vitality. My new relationship with the weeds on our farm has got me thinking about how many things in life I’ve been trained to label as “bad,” which results in my inability to fully witness or enjoy them.
For example, a couple of years ago, me, my husband and our two grown children were part of a wedding ceremony procession. We were told that our turn to walk down the path would come in a few minutes, and to just wait where we had been placed until we received the go-ahead to start walking.
The four of us chatted quietly, amusing each other with silly inside jokes, reminiscing about memorable events from when we were all much younger and still shared the same home, not spread across the country. Nonetheless, as time ticked by and more than 20 minutes passed, I became agitated and impatient. Being kept waiting is something I’ve always labeled as “bad.”
A few days later, when my husband and I discussed our favorite parts of the weekend, I was taken by surprise when he pronounced that the highlight for him was when we stood waiting with our kids for so long. “It felt really special for the four of us to just hang out and pass time together, like the old days,” he explained.
Myra and Drew with their children Marea and Jeff, 1994
What a wakeup call that was for me! Instead of wasting much of that precious time together feeling annoyed, I could have been relishing every moment. Two years later, I still think about my husband’s comment because it helped me realize how much joy I potentially miss out on by having a strict hierarchy in my mind of what is “good” versus “bad,” and only giving things labeled as “good” my full attention and appreciation.
Lately, I’ve been playing around with challenging my designation of doing the dishes as “bad.” Instead of viewing it as a tiresome daily task to get through as quickly as possible so I can move on to doing something “good,” I’m trying to make washing the dishes a mindfulness practice, giving the experience my undivided, unbiased attention.
When I’m actually able to do this, everything changes. I am soothed by the feeling of warm water rushing through my hands. I relish the satisfying feeling of seeing the pots that helped us create delicious nourishment go from dirty to sparkling clean. Suddenly, doing the dishes is transformed into a relaxing and grounding experience that I am able to savor.
The weeds, time waiting, and washing dishes have slowly been teaching me that being fully present and dropping arbitrary judgments of what is “worthwhile” can bring the priceless gift of being able to enjoy all the diverse moments of our precious lives more fully.
