I'm the first to admit to being weird. I like weeding. I can't walk into my yard without yanking something out of the ground. I find it therapeutic, especially when I manage to get roots and all with one pull. I'm easy to please.
One of the effects of my weeding is worms. I'm not sure they like it. I must disturb their tunnels, or they think an earthquake is coming, because any time I yank at a weed, one or two worms rise out of the small pock I create. They crawl accordion-like along the ground for a moment and then begin burrowing back into the dirt. I'm certain they were sleeping because I recognize that dazed, disoriented gait from my own early mornings before the coffee is brewed.
Perhaps they surface to ask me to be a little more gentle with the earth. Worms are very sensitive about this issue. They are nature's little composting machines, after all. They tunnel through organic matter and dirt and recycle it into worm castings, a rich dark soil that is perfect for the garden. I've found they especially love the coffee grounds I put into our compost pile. I understand this. We are kindred caffeinated spirits, the worms and I. And it is nice to know that all of those weeds I pull will eventually be chewed back into nourishing dirt for my berries, vegetables, and flowers.