[seeing red]

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I enjoy weeding. I’m addicted.

..but I had my work cut out for me here in Le Luot. Roger, Laura, and I compiled a list of things he hoped to accomplish by the end of the year to try to turn the bed&breakfast around. One of the tasks was to improve the landscape and facade of the building. We spent half a day removing miscellaneous, broken, Christmas lights and nails from the side of the B&B and some really ugly lanterns by the front door. That, alone, made a big difference. I wish I took before & after pictures.

The next big project we tackled was fixing up the gravel driveway. There were overgrown patches of grass all around the stone border and throughout the driveway.

Roger and Laura were new to weeding. So, I opened their eyes to the wonderful world of weeding. It reminded me of simpler days in Greece and I missed my host family. We went out to buy spades and gardening gloves and began work the next day.


It was tough work. Laura and I spent at least 3 full days just weeding and redistributing the gravel.


What started out as a mild addiction, weeding soon became a source of hacking away at my frustrations. I always enjoyed this time for quiet reflection. Weeding afforded me the chance to sort my thoughts, my feelings, and re-evaluate my life and friends. Eventually, my mind wandered over to my previous work life. And I started seeing red. Perhaps coincidentally, this was around the time I started to work on pulling out large patches of grass and carrying huge shovel-fulls of gravels to redistribute. The work became harder and so did my heart. Or so it felt. I wasn’t just pulling out weeds, I was stabbing at the stubborn roots. I wasn’t just slowly ripping patches of grass, I was uprooting whole earthworm homes [which, by the way, earthworms are gross].

I don’t know what came over me. I was so angry. so frustrated. so hurt. And I felt helpless.

There’s still a lot about my old job that I haven’t come to terms with. It’s something that my brain thinks about more often than not. And it takes a lot for me to push it away. And the act of weeding, somehow, helped me relieve some of the aggression I had. I would lose hours to these angry feelings…because sometimes being mad is easier than being sad. But it made me work harder…because before I knew it, we were almost done.

I never took a final “after” picture but we finished the weeding around the stone border down to the street, the front of the house, and half way finished the brick wall bordering the other side of the drive way.



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