Love Your Weeds

On some level, most of us feel a resonance with growing things. You may not see yourself as a gardener. You may not consider your thumbs green, but chances are, you feel plants are a positive thing. In general, people enjoy having potted plants in their home or office. Hotels, restaurants, and shopping malls decorate with foliage because people like it. Greenery softens the hard edges and improves the general atmosphere of a place. We put fruit or flowers on the table or present a bouquet to a friend because they make people happy. Just the idea of plants is symbolic of abundance, growth and good things.

In springtime, we are thrilled by the first pale green sprouts that poke out of the frosty earth. We anticipate sunny days spent communing with the life we see emerging all around us. That recognition of life and its potential to nourish us lies at the heart of our affinity for the plant kingdom. It's what turns so many of us into gardeners and groomers of our own little part of planet earth. For some, that means elaborate plans for vegetable plots. For others, it's carefully tended flowers. Often, a perfect, well-trimmed lawn is the goal. Some are happy with a pot or two of herbs, and some dream of harvesting enough cucumbers to have pickles through the winter or a bounty of tomatoes to share with friends. My own approach is mixed.

Years of childhood poverty definitely impressed me with the virtue of growing your own produce. An inexpensive packet of seeds and a little work could yield a wealth of food that was not only handy and fresh, but also better tasting than much of what stocked the grocer's bins. Take a little extra care when harvesting, and you could put away free seeds for next year, too. So, as an adult, the urge to nurture a variety of future salad fixings resurfaces each spring. I happily indulge and play in the dirt, plant my selection of seeds, and protect the fragile young sprouts from frost and eager squirrels until they're ready to stand on their own.

Yet for all this care, an outsider might never guess I was a gardener. They might conclude, after a glance at my yard, that I was a lazy homeowner. Why? Because as much as I delight in taking part in the growing process, I celebrate the growth that goes on without my interference, too. My yard is full of weeds. My grass grows as tall as the village ordinances will allow. My house is surrounded by such a profusion of leaves, flowers and vines that it seems shameful to even consider cutting back any of this vibrant gift from Mother Earth. I am only a visitor on this little piece of land, and I intend to coexist with her as she wants to be- untamed. I like this place wild and alive.

Several years ago, I took a call from one of the chemical lawn treatment companies. They were in my neighborhood treating a neighbor's lawn, he said, and they noticed we had trouble with broadleaf weeds in our front yard. I was both surprised and amused. I proceeded to name off the varieties of "weeds", detailing which were good for salads, which could soothe a sore throat or help ease a splinter out, and which were just harmless and pretty. The idea of poisoning anything thriving in my lawn was so opposite my notion of a healthy yard that his offer was actually a little offensive. But knowing the usual preference is for a homogeneous, manicured grass lawn, unblemished by dandelions, I couldn't fault him for trying to sell his services. "No, thank you," I said, "I love my weeds."

You see, all that time spent planting and tending, harvesting and storing away seeds enhances appreciation for the magic of growing things. Nurturing and sometimes failing your plants makes you value the spark of life even more. You gain respect for the cycle that carries nourishment from one living thing to another. You begin to see that each expression of the amazing variety of life has its own special purpose and worth, and you even learn to love your weeds.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Felt

Significance of Numbers

The Magic of Things