Working on the farm has something in common with the myth about Sisyphus. Especially when you have to weed. You start pulling small weeds in one bed and you are moving to another one. And there are bigger weeds there, some even called smart weeds. For me they are not smarter than a hoe though. But they are stubborn – not wanted; they come back, grow fast, strong and in big quantities.

On the other hand, Sisyphus had only one rock. Maybe big, maybe rough on the edges, but one, easy to control uphill, almost to the top of the mountain. Weeds are more like an avalanche of rocks. I think they actually like to be pulled out, so more can grow back. Cut one head and two will come up.

So I was pulling weeds, crawling in the hot sandy soil, like a lizard without a tail, and suddenly a tractor with a round-up tank passed by on the road. And I thought about this funny coincidence: two ways of approaching the same mountain. But me never getting to the top of course. And I found my useless, never-ending, nonsense job of pulling weeds with my hands, pretty meaningful.

In a bigger picture.