When I say I'm going out to weed, I'm not talking about plucking a few dandelions. Lions and tigers and bears could hide in the jungle in my yard. I'm talking two-feet tall, back-to-back suckers with root balls that make you feel like you're setting the mainsail as you pull them out of the ground. Interspersed are those dreadful weeds with hairy stems and little pointy auger seeds that poke holes in your hand. Weeding up here ain't for wimps. What the weatherman calls the delta breeze came through yesterday, gathering strength when it came up against the foothills until it was a real wind in the afternoon. Still, it was too nice to stay indoors so Bess and I walked out. I hadn't planned on weeding, I rarely do, but it's such a good excuse to stay out in the sunshine. I have a wonderful pair of gardening gloves that I would wear if I gave it a little forethought. This photo doesn't do justice to the knee-high pile of pulled weeds when I cried uncle. My daughter laughs because I'm a very neat and tidy weed puller. I like all the root ends facing the same direction. An hour slipped by as I thought, "Just until I reach that rock," or, "I'll quit when the line is even." I quit when I couldn't straighten up anymore. The sad part is that I didn't even finish a third of the rock garden area, and there's still the herb garden and the lavender bed to pull. Ah well, Scarlett, tomorrow is another day.