The “Weed”?
**Another story if you will...one along the same lines as the last one, although this one is more relevant to something in the past.**
He reached up to adjust his rearview mirror, briefly taking notice of the shiny new car behind him. A thirty-something woman sipped her Starbucks as she prattled into her cell-phone equipped with internet and camera and from the looks of it—the steering wheel for the car. He sighed as he looked around at the mess in his ’87 truck—waiting for the stoplight which resembled a tomato—it was old but had served him well all these years. He pulled forward as the tomato unripened from a lush red to a bright and sour green, giving him the signal to go. Mellow music mused in the background interrupted by intermittent waves of static as he drove along silently.
Upon reaching the house he got out of his white truck which read “Gardening Service” on the side, and walked to the front door of the medium sized grey house. The nine o’clock sun glared at him while he squinted right back. He rang the doorbell but then realized that there was an enveloped taped to the door with his name on it in careful writing. In it was a note with some basic instructions and a check for far more than his standard fee.
He made his way around to the backyard to inspect his patient to see what he would need to do to conjure a remedy. It was bad, but he could tell that it had once been a decent backyard with a pleasant garden in the corner. The grass was wild and long—briefly bringing to mind his long hair hippy days—and the weeds were looking as if they were preparing to usurp control of the backyard.
In a matter of several hours it looked completely different—he had transformed a jungle into a lawn and garden. There was something that was troubling him however. There was a strange plant, like no other he had seen in all his years in gardening, at the corner of the part where the lawn transitioned into garden. It looked like it belonged in the garden and yet somehow at the same time it seemed so out of place. He was unsure as to what he should do. It almost looked like an exotic plant, but at the same time it could have been a weed. Whatever it was, it was strange and too small for him to determine. He did not want to appear unprofessional and possibly leave a weed growing but did not want to destroy a special plant. The note left by his customer asked him to come once every fortnight and mentioned that he would probably be gone before the gardener arrived to work. With this in mind he wondered if he should let this plant bloom or if he should completely extirpate it. He could trim it and leave possibilities open for either option—which would be avoiding a solution—either letting a weed remain rooted or preventing a flower from reaching full bloom.
Both solutions are problematic, he did not know what to do, there was no way he could ask the owner for he would never meet him. Which risk must he take?
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