Stop and smell the weeds
Weeds, those tough rooted stubborn and invasive plants that threaten to wreak havoc with my nicely manicured flower bed seem to have adapted to every space in my garden where there is a semblance of soil. They don’t seem to mind if the ground isn’t particularly healthy or nurturing for their growth, they just persist against all odds. And I wage war on them!
I’ve heard it said that weeds are just plants that have come up in the wrong place, so why do we punish and banish them to the garden waste.
In their own unique way weeds play their part in the health of the soil by offering it shade, reducing evaporation and the harmful affects of the sun as well as reducing wind speed at its surface. In a nutshell, they are important for soil conservation. And soil is one of the foundations of organic life on earth, allowing plants, animals and organisms to grow and thrive. It produces food for all creatures, and contains the very web of life itself. So weeds, it turns out, are important.
But this is not an ecological conversation, rather a consideration and acknowledgement of the millions of plants that wear the label of ‘weeds’ and become disdained and discarded along the road or on the scrap heap.
This has got me thinking about the idea, attitude and practice of discrimination. In gardening terms it’s the cherished rose with her powdery fragrance and papery petals, the gardenia or daphne captivating and invading our olfactory as we walk by, or the port wine magnolia that opens in the evening releasing a heady and intoxicating allure, that gets our attention. It’s not too dissimilar to the way acceptance and value plays itself out in the garden of human beings. The rich, the famous and the beautiful get the lions share of accolades, and those that are less fortunate get in line for theirs, if they are lucky. The flowers that look so beautiful grace the florist's window and the weeds are left outside on the kerbside, struggling to survive as they drown in the mud that builds as torrents of flood waters roll down the street. They are the resilient ones.
Who gets to decide whether a plant is a weed, or a flower.
Who gets to decide who is accepted and who is discarded along the wayside.
Who gets to decide who is in and who is out.
Discrimination has gotten us into all kinds of trouble. Maybe stopping to notice and smell the weeds will open our eyes to see goodness in all things, all beings, human and non. Surely if we can look into the face of the other who does not look and smell the same as us and see beauty, we might have a chance for change and healing in our world.
Today I took a stroll, a purposeful slow amble along the country road that is my regular walk. It’s the week before Christmas which means it’s officially well into summer, and even though the temperature is taking its time to warm up, the earth is giving up the bounty she produces in this season. I decided to pick every wild flower I noticed along this path. Now I know the foraging rule which encourages a ‘shared’ gathered approach. Take one third for yourself, leave one for someone else and leave the other where it is growing so that it can contribute to its place in the circle of life. So, mindful of this I thought my bunch would be small, I want to share. Turns out that weeds (because that’s all that really grows on the side of the road) produce flowers in an abundance and array of colour, shapes and sizes. My bunch became all that I could hold in one hand and now adorns my dining room table mixed in with my cherished summer christmas lilies and peonies, those summer flowers that get all the attention, take pride of place and cost the earth to buy! It’s a beautiful thing and those weeds, they were free.
I’m thinking about turning the back corner of our garden into a wilding lawn. I know it’s going to look messy and straggly for a while as the hardened grasses grow thick and tall, but with time and patience and a little scattering of seeds a harvest of flower covered weeds will appear. The manicured lawn will disappear and pale in significance to their grandeur, the birds and the bees will love it, and all will be well. I know change is not that simple, but it’s a start.