#11 Zero Tolerance
ZERO TOLERANCE
My mother was an indifferent housekeeper. Her tolerance for dirt, dust and the chaos of a family of eight was high. But she had zero tolerance for dandelions in the lawn. She did not believe in pesticides, and pulling never got the roots, which just sent up new leaves. So we dug the dandelions out of the yard as they appeared, one by one by one.
Our community garden has become infested with bindweed. This is a truly nasty plant--highly evolved for survival. It has long underground runners, and vines that pop up at intervals and soon entangle everything in sight. Pulling out the vines leaves the runners undisturbed, ready to send up more. You can dig up the runner roots--a slow and painful business--but if even a half inch bit remains in the ground it sends up a new vine and gathers strength to grow again. Modest efforts at controlling bindweed invariably fail. Attempts to contain it in just one part of a garden are doomed. It comes back. It spreads.
Bindweed requires zero tolerance. Building on my childhood experience with dandelions, I have taken on the bindweed challenge in our garden. In the process, I have had plenty of time to meditate on tolerance and strategies for rooting out that which invades and degrades our lives.
First and foremost, there is no way to rout the bindweed without absolute confidence that it can be done. The moment you get discouraged and stop trying, the moment you start believing that it will prevail, then all your effort will have been wasted.
It helps to think strategically, to maximize the energy available for the struggle. In our garden the bindweed has spread from the flower garden in front of the fence to the vegetable plots behind. Why tend the flowers if it will spread back in from people’s plots? How can we ever hope to get rid of it in our plots if the flowers are infested? Discouragement at what our neighbors are not doing saps our energy--and the bindweed spreads. Another woman and I started a weed-free zone under and on either side of the fence--laying down a wide corridor of thick layers of newspaper. We have no illusions that this in itself is adequate, but it helps to create a barrier, to give both sides of the fence hope that their effort will not be in vain.
Getting rid of the visible problem--the above ground part--gives an appearance of mastery. But it doesn’t last. There is no substitute for getting at the roots. You have to dig. You have to follow the roots as they run underground for longer than you would believe possible. You have to be patient and tease them out.
There’s no point in wasting energy on outrage at the unfairness of the struggle, at the strength of this noxious weed that smothers the life around it. Anger and righteousness and a desire to punish just threaten everything that’s trying to grow. This is simply the situation to be faced, and you have the choice to watch it choke out what you value--or to dig. If you choose to dig, you have to relax into the rhythm of the effort, to cultivate patience and humility, to be easy on yourself as the bindweed holds its own. You can be confident that after you’ve cleared out every vestige, there will be more. By the next week, dozens of fresh new vines will have popped up from the places you missed and the little fragments of root that got left. After you’ve dug all of those out, there will still be more. There will be more, and more again, long beyond the point when you are ready to give up. But at some point, if you stay at it, there will be less.
As I carefully disentangle the tendrils from the leaves of plants that I love, work my fingers back to the roots, ease them out from the top, then work underneath, trying to separate the bindweed runners from the plant roots without totally traumatizing the plant itself, I think of the challenge of other infestations. In our garden campaign we have abandoned some of the most heavily infested plants, digging them up, throwing them away and starting again. I grieve, knowing that with enough time and love, each one could have been saved. Dig them up, clean every fragment of runner out of their roots, clear the soil, replant, water, and tend them--and then, if necessary, do it all over again. It’s a matter of confidence, a decision that it matters, and a willingness to do the job.
This may not be the most important work in the world. But it is work that has called me these last few weeks. It exercises my muscles and my heart. The difference it makes may not be big, but it is real. A place of beauty is slowly reclaimed. A community of gardeners who have been discouraged are offered hope. And I think I have made my peace with the place of zero tolerance in the world.
Pamela Haines
Philadelphia, 5/03
My mother was an indifferent housekeeper. Her tolerance for dirt, dust and the chaos of a family of eight was high. But she had zero tolerance for dandelions in the lawn. She did not believe in pesticides, and pulling never got the roots, which just sent up new leaves. So we dug the dandelions out of the yard as they appeared, one by one by one.
Our community garden has become infested with bindweed. This is a truly nasty plant--highly evolved for survival. It has long underground runners, and vines that pop up at intervals and soon entangle everything in sight. Pulling out the vines leaves the runners undisturbed, ready to send up more. You can dig up the runner roots--a slow and painful business--but if even a half inch bit remains in the ground it sends up a new vine and gathers strength to grow again. Modest efforts at controlling bindweed invariably fail. Attempts to contain it in just one part of a garden are doomed. It comes back. It spreads.
Bindweed requires zero tolerance. Building on my childhood experience with dandelions, I have taken on the bindweed challenge in our garden. In the process, I have had plenty of time to meditate on tolerance and strategies for rooting out that which invades and degrades our lives.
First and foremost, there is no way to rout the bindweed without absolute confidence that it can be done. The moment you get discouraged and stop trying, the moment you start believing that it will prevail, then all your effort will have been wasted.
It helps to think strategically, to maximize the energy available for the struggle. In our garden the bindweed has spread from the flower garden in front of the fence to the vegetable plots behind. Why tend the flowers if it will spread back in from people’s plots? How can we ever hope to get rid of it in our plots if the flowers are infested? Discouragement at what our neighbors are not doing saps our energy--and the bindweed spreads. Another woman and I started a weed-free zone under and on either side of the fence--laying down a wide corridor of thick layers of newspaper. We have no illusions that this in itself is adequate, but it helps to create a barrier, to give both sides of the fence hope that their effort will not be in vain.
Getting rid of the visible problem--the above ground part--gives an appearance of mastery. But it doesn’t last. There is no substitute for getting at the roots. You have to dig. You have to follow the roots as they run underground for longer than you would believe possible. You have to be patient and tease them out.
There’s no point in wasting energy on outrage at the unfairness of the struggle, at the strength of this noxious weed that smothers the life around it. Anger and righteousness and a desire to punish just threaten everything that’s trying to grow. This is simply the situation to be faced, and you have the choice to watch it choke out what you value--or to dig. If you choose to dig, you have to relax into the rhythm of the effort, to cultivate patience and humility, to be easy on yourself as the bindweed holds its own. You can be confident that after you’ve cleared out every vestige, there will be more. By the next week, dozens of fresh new vines will have popped up from the places you missed and the little fragments of root that got left. After you’ve dug all of those out, there will still be more. There will be more, and more again, long beyond the point when you are ready to give up. But at some point, if you stay at it, there will be less.
As I carefully disentangle the tendrils from the leaves of plants that I love, work my fingers back to the roots, ease them out from the top, then work underneath, trying to separate the bindweed runners from the plant roots without totally traumatizing the plant itself, I think of the challenge of other infestations. In our garden campaign we have abandoned some of the most heavily infested plants, digging them up, throwing them away and starting again. I grieve, knowing that with enough time and love, each one could have been saved. Dig them up, clean every fragment of runner out of their roots, clear the soil, replant, water, and tend them--and then, if necessary, do it all over again. It’s a matter of confidence, a decision that it matters, and a willingness to do the job.
This may not be the most important work in the world. But it is work that has called me these last few weeks. It exercises my muscles and my heart. The difference it makes may not be big, but it is real. A place of beauty is slowly reclaimed. A community of gardeners who have been discouraged are offered hope. And I think I have made my peace with the place of zero tolerance in the world.
Pamela Haines
Philadelphia, 5/03
posted by Pamela Haines | 3:31 PM
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