Root and Weed Removal in Grandma's Garden

Things were going along quite smoothly this week. 

The tools were not raised above the waist by those who were in need of supplies.

Those who were comfortable with the tools their bodies provided were happily weeding the dirt surrounding our blooming beds. 

The garden leaders saw me trip over the tip of a root.

They heard me mutter that I have to do something about that.  Someone's going to get hurt.

While cherubic cheeks brought me offerings of dead leaves and small stones, waiting for my approval before going off in search of more treasures to deposit in the trash barrow,

I watched with barely concealed horror as the root was attacked from all angles, with all available supplies. This is hard packed, un-irrigated for decades, exposed to full sun/all day dirt they were digging through.  I listened to them warn the others when one began to poke at the root with enthusiasm, I heard them reassure me that It's all good. 

I tried to identify the plant he was holding,

but we had to get out of the way of the kids who were united in proving that their brawn was no match for that root.  We had no interest in being crushed.   

When he returned with more of the weeds gathered just outside the garden's fence

they were wondering why the inside of the root was wet.  They were somewhat concerned: that root was alive, it was feeding our giant tree, we were seeing the cambium and the bark and the whole xylem and phloem thing right in their hands, and had they killed the tree?

 I reassured them that there were many more roots, that I'd bring a tool and create a neat cut to allow the root that remained to heal, and that, most important of all, no one would be tripping on that stub. 

That made us all very happy.