I go back....back to the rows, almost hypnotic in their repetition, in the pacing of them. Up one row, scrutinizing the base of each bush, feeling with my eyes, with my mind, for the interlopers. Down the next row, checking the other sides of the same bushes, because you don't catch them all, not reliably, looking only from one direction. The tree seedlings are worse than any other weed, and Juglans nigra, black walnut, is the worst of them all. It is allelopathic; its roots secrete a chemical, juglone, that poisons other plants. A berry bush could die or simply fail to thrive and be replaced...after suffering already from its unwelcome roommate. The other seedlings are less bad, but still, growing right next to the bush, they suck the water and nutrients that the bushes need to grow and produce well. Some of the maple seedlings were as large as three inches in diameter! I feel protective towards the berry bushes.
The quiet. The calm. The peace. The inner crying having given way to a state of quiet alertness, of contentment.