Weeding

With plenty of rain and sunshine all my veggies and pollinator plants are growing well. One side effect, however, is that so are the weeds. And so, this time of year, making time to pull weeds has to happen.

Weeds. Usually defined as "I didn't want that growing there."

In early July, while at the North House Folk School store in Grand Marais, I came across a Field Guide for Midwest Weeds.   The Folk School leads classes on foraging and outdoor plant identification, thus the stocking of this book.  One of its features is that it actually identifies how the plant being labelled a weed may have positive qualities or uses.  It is also helpful in noting whether or not this plant is native to our area and most importantly whether or not it is invasive - choking out our native plants.

I'll be up front with you, I'm not a pristine, manicured lawn kind of person, but the sight of some plants do bring up a negative response and a hidden desire to rip them out of the ground.  I'm trying, through the reading of this book and other fantastic resources on sustainable gardening, to work through some of my biases.

You see I grew up in suburban St. Paul and one of my childhood "chores" was taking care of the lawn.  Since our house was located in the adjoining lot to my grandmother, I also had the pleasure of taking care of her lawn as well.   Lots of grass. Plenty of dandelions.   I had a tool for digging up dandelions (a little pronged fork on the end of a handle) and would make the rounds trying to get at the deep taproots.   And as much as I seemed to have made progress, those dandelions would quickly be back again in full force.   An unending battle which they were winning.

I also remember spending lots of time trying to remove tree seedlings (maples mostly) and those pesky plantains and quack grass.  Cracks in sidewalks, brick patios, garden edges, curbs, and our fence lines all needed attention to help me feel proud of my lawn maintenance efforts.  I was diligent, thorough, tenacious. 

My home efforts set me up to become one of the neighborhood lawn care "specialists" and when I was 13 - led to caring for a commercial space that was owned by a neighbor.  My middle school and high school days included lawn care for several neighbors and my church.  At one point, the work had me imagining a lifetime career in landscaping or perhaps as a forest ranger.  The farthest I did take this was to spend a couple summers in the research fields of the University of Minnesota, monitoring new seed varieties for the Minnesota Crop Improvement Association, and keeping their fields free of all other plants.  Because we were growing "seed" it also included removing variants of the plant in that field that weren't the exactly same as all of the others.  Tedious, hot, and monotonous, walking up and down rows of oats, wheat, barley, rye, soybeans, and corn, trying to create the perfect bag of seed. We became wizards with hoes.  I also had the unfortunate experience of working with RoundUp, wearing elbow length gloves, masks, and goggles during some pretty hot days.  Weeding built up my stamina in many ways.

These days, I'm just a hand puller and my garden gloves are my favorite tool.  Somehow, now just an hour of weed pulling can be enough to wear me out for a day.

It seems true that all plants have a place and that all plants have a purpose.  I do question the purpose of a poison ivy (which still inhabits my front yard at home) or a bull thistle.  I understand that all flowering plants provide some way of supporting bees, flies, moths, butterflies, and many other insects, as well as birds and our other animal neighbors.  I recognize that plants are often at the whims of winds, rains, and soil, as well as animals, as to where they actually end up.  And it most true that humans have had a lot to do with transporting plants as well as organizing their homes as we create our living spaces.

I'm currently on the creeping bellflower and ragweed pulling campaign.  It's perhaps futile to imagine I'll make much of a dent in either of them, but at least within the spaces I occupy these two plants have become unwelcome guests.  One is communal (bellflower is an invasive that takes over areas and chokes out native plants that our local insects and animals rely upon.  The other is personal, as I've become more sensitive to ragweed pollen over the years, and it makes me feel miserable.  I've come to tolerate and even appreciate many other so-called weeds, although western poison ivy and virginia creeper are also on my you-must-go list for similar reasons.

If we can tolerate more natural diversity, we will indeed have a more robust natural ecosystem.  If we can identify non-native invasives and help restore the natural ecosystems that developed over eons (before our haphazard interventions) by supporting the native plants, we will have stronger natural ecosystems.  

I am struck by how we as humans get into the position of identifying other humans as "weeds." While it is true that history has many stories of one group of people invading an area occupied by others, and we have current day actions that continue to clearly identify invaders, it's difficult to unravel how our human societies can make claims for being part of a native ecosystem itself.  The human race is a collection of travelers and migrants from our original home in heart of Africa, and all places around this earth have felt the impact of our human home-making. Learning how to live within our natural ecosystems (which existed well before our arrival- and arguably can do well without us after we're gone) may be our greatest challenge to become a sustainable species.  Those societies which have been able to co-exist with their natural surroundings do well to earn a description of native.  Otherwise, it seems we're destined to always feel like weeds, out of place, and recklessly damaging the natural home where we live.   

As people go, I am leaning toward diversity for producing the strongest forms of beloved community, and I am hoping we can find a way to be productive and respectful members of the natural ecosystems we inhabit.  

Walking that green path as a business these past 19+ years has helped Butter feel at home in this neighborhood and see how we can help restore our earth.  Walking this path alongside all of you has nourished and rooted me in so many ways, and for that I am truly grateful.