I'd rather be a weed than a hot house flower

Have you ever fought weeds in your yard?

We put in an entire new yard last fall, tearing out the old and putting in the new which included installing a weed fabric and a layer of rock. Guess what?



We have weeds.

Despite vigorous opposition, weeds have managed to grow. We will pull them, spray them with poison and stab them with appropriate yard weapons. But they will be back and they will keep on coming. As much as I hate them, I have to admire their sheer tenacity. I want to cultivate more of that quality of persistence within myself.

I am afraid that I am too much like a hot house flower. At the first sign of frost, when I don't have enough people responding to my work, I want to curl up and die. When the searing heat of criticism and disdain beats down upon me, I shrivel and wilt. If I don't receive fertilizer, the encouragement of kind words, my growth falters.

Weeds don't care what the other plants think. They don't compare themselves to their beautiful cousins and declare themselves unworthy. Every hand is raised against them but they stay the course. They do what they were created to do.

They grow.

And so will I.

Note: This painting was based on a photo from the Centennial Trail. I had noticed this flower/weed for months during the summer and never thought it worthy of painting. However, by the end of November, it was the last blooming plant on the trail so I decided it was indeed, worthy. You can see a print of it in my shop here.