Wendy’s Writing

Pulling Weeds

Wendy Gilbert Gronbeck

One evening, my husband was proofreading a story I was ready to send off. I sat across the room watching him read, which I’m sure was helpful. After reading the first page, he looked up. Unencumbered by context, he said, “I believe you were raised by a pack of wild metaphors.” His observation threw a breaker switch in my brain. It was true; my father always spoke in metaphors. Wander off the straight and narrow and you would hear, “You’re just a passenger on this train, sister.” I guess it rubbed off on his children.

As I walked the dog in the woods this morning, I was uprooting those nasty, invasive garlic mustard plants. To eradicate garlic mustard, you must extract the entire plant to the very tip of the root. My husband was right: being metaphorically inclined, my thoughts wandered from garlic mustard to racism, something increasingly on my mind in recent weeks, and something else that is noxious and spreads if not pulled out by the roots. Both the pungent bouquet in my hand and the parallels to racism grew fatter as I pulled garlic mustard along the trail.

Many of us live in a bubble where racism may be acknowledged, but we aren’t personally singed by it. Then, an incident occurs or a statement is overheard, and the bubble bursts. As with a garlic mustard invasion, we see the woods blooming with jack-in-the pulpits, trillium, May apples, and wild ginger. Then, one telltale white flower appears, waving on its tall stalk. Why bother with it? Why bend all the way over and carry it all the way back to the car? Do others strolling through the woods this morning notice them popping up all over? Do they think I’m nuts to bother with a few invasive plants? Soon, my metaphorical train was racing along at full throttle. The roots are down there; they have never gone away. Once one plant survives unchallenged, the invasion is on. And when the problem is denied, minimized, ignored? Goodbye to lady slippers. Farewell, Dutchmen’s britches.

Racism is on my mind for many reasons, but most recently because of a well-known song. Historically, the song exhumes a world of hatred and egregious acts. The lyrics have long-since been whitewashed, but the stench of history cannot be painted over. For me, the racism sings through, loud and clear. Do I sing such a song, so tempting with its beautiful harmonies? It certainly is easiest to stroll right on down the trail. It’s just a few blossoms, right?

As I walk, I sense the vibration of roots coming alive under my feet. They are there, they’ve always been there, and if ignored, the invasion is on. Pull each plant you encounter or walk on by and allow them to ravage the forest floor.

I hear my dad’s voice asking me, “Are you really just a passenger on this train?”

Gifts from the Edge of Life: Reflections of a Grateful Nurse

This collection won the Michigan Writers Cooperative Press 2025 Chapbook contest for creative non-fiction. It is available from the author–see Contact page on this website. Also available at most sites such as Amazon, Goodreads, Bookshop.org, etc.