Whenever I tell people I've just converted our little cultivated area of land into a weed garden, they think I'm now growing pot.

But our weeds have no redeeming value whatsoever -- they merely are. And they are not illegal.

Call it sheer laziness, but I have, after careful consideration, come to the conclusion that weeds have a God-given right to grow -- and grow and grow -- and that I have no right to get in their way.

Until this spring, I had no idea how good not weeding would feel -- to me, and to the poor squatter that in the past would have wound up as just one more ignominious piece of rejected plant matter on the weekly pile of garden refuse.

Today, in my garden at least, it can hold its little head up high, and not risk having it lopped off.

You see, a weed only becomes a weed when enough people decide they don't like it. Other plants don't call it a weed, even if they're fighting it for space. Only people do.

And those people, I now realize, might themselves deserve the term weedists.

Weeding one's garden is in part about control, and showing the neighbors that you care enough about your own microscopic slice of God's Green Earth -- as viewed from Outer Space -- to make sure there is not a speck of unsightly growth in it.

For some years, I exerted this same control, ripping out every intruder, foreigner and usurper, and replacing it with only those plants approved by local garden shops and big box outlets. The same stores that sell weed-killing chemicals by the mega-gallon.

I even joined a garden club and learned the difference between good and evil plant life at the dirty feet of master gardeners, friends and neighbors, whose own garden plots are impeccable squares and rounds and rectangles of floral resplendence.

I admire the beauty -- the aromas, textures and carefully arranged splashes of color -- they have been able to achieve. With nary a weed in sight. And the six hours a day they spend to create these works of natural art.

They don't need National Weed Your Garden Day -- which falls on June 15th -- to tell them what needs to be done. Weeding is just one aspect of nurturing one's garden, much like changing a baby's diaper or flossing one's teeth. It's not pleasant but it must be done.

For those of us on the other side of the fence, however, I've named July 6th as National Don't Weed Your Garden Day -- and every other day of the year as well.

I don't know my weeds' names nor how much sun, water, fertilizer, space or root depth they need, and I don't care.

My weeds can now run wild, to grow up and over and under and down, to their little squatting heart's content. They know what to do. They don't need my help. And I will not interfere. I promise.

Such peace, such kindness, such sweet freedom. Why not give it a try?