Initially appalled by the clumps of weeds, she rushes to the garden shed for pesticides and weed killers. But this urge doesn't feel right; she has the sense that someone is laughing at her. Rose realizes that she doesn't want to get rid of the weeds. Instead, she goes to call the lawyer — to seek outside help. But this notion is not right either. She suddenly breaks down emotionally and takes to her bed. When she is awakened — significantly, by her mother's call to life — Rose realizes that she can survive without Ted. This is where Tan emphasizes another key symbol, the weeds. Rose is no longer the delicate flower that her name suggests. Now she is a weed — a tough survivor. The weeds in the garden have sprouted up in the patio cracks, anchoring themselves in the side of the house and spreading under the loose shingles. Weeds are strong, Rose realizes — so strong, in fact, that they are capable of burying themselves in the very foundation of a house. When that happens, you have no choice but to pull down the building. Like the weeds, Rose has taken root in the foundation of her home. She has no intention of relinquishing it to Ted. It is hers; he will have to tear it down to get it away from her.
The dream sequence at the chapter's close reinforces this symbol of Rose's newfound identity and strength. In the dream, Rose's mother is walking with Old Mr. Chou through the foggy garden. Notice that Rose is no longer afraid of Old Mr. Chou, her longtime enemy. She now welcomes sleep because she is in touch with her inner self. She is at peace. And her mother is planting weeds! This is an inversion of our expectations. People plant flowers; they pluck weeds. But Rose's mother realizes the strength of weeds. They aren't fragile roses that wither in the glaring sun or driving rain; they are hearty survivors. In the garden, they are already "spilling out over the edges and running wild in every direction." Like them, Rose has taken root. Like the tough weeds, she can now survive life's blows.
