I learned about fear in the garden today. No, not of the large black spider I saw. Not fear of the grasshopper who startled me by leaping into the middle of my chest. Not even fear of cutting myself with clippers, pricking myself with thorns, or infecting myself with itchiness for the rest of the day.

My plan with the garden up until now has been to clean it up, figure out what was there, and make the best of it. I trimmed carefully lest the plants be traumatized. I accepted the basic design as a necessary part of the garden. I was afraid to make a mistake.

Today I discovered I want all the old out. Not that the timid beginnings were wasted—I needed them to recognize that emptying the space was the least wasteful use of the dirt.

As always, I could not get entirely too carried away because I am limited by the size of my green can, but in a few more weeks I now expect to see dirt that can be rototilled, a space for fruit trees.

And I did take the pig statue, the dead topiary frame, and a pre-ruined column planter out to the street to be absorbed by the sidewalk gremlins.