Richard Mabey begins his accounts of Weeds with a wonderful statement: “Plants become weeds when they obstruct our plans, or our tidy maps of the world. If you have no such plans or maps, they can appear as innocents, without stigma or blame.”
We are, of course, quite focused on weeds on our property or in our environment because they disturb our well-established preferences for what grows around us. Mabey, however, is quite thrilled to study and appreciate the “forest of disreputable plants.” He finds them pulsing with life, plants that have taken over areas because they are formidable. Of course, Mabey is primarily writing about European, especially English, weeds, which means we might have to look them up. He does devote a least one chapter to American weeds.
It is curious that plants we consider valuable ornamentals become weeds when they are introduced to a new environment. My mother loved her rhodendrons in the front garden at my childhood home. Most rhodendrons are native to Asia but several are native to the US, including the Colorado mountains. In England, however, they are considered one of the most invasive weeds of Britain’s western woodlands, having escaped from Kew Gardens.
Weeds have been with us for thousands of years, beginning with the development of cultivation more than 10,000 years ago. In Genesis, they are called “thorns and thistles,” a punishment connected with forsaking the Garden of Eden. Early agriculturists chose to cultivate some plants and war against others.
Most of the species we regard as weeds are incredibly successful at thriving under difficult conditions. They know how to survive. Tumbleweed seeds, for example, germinate in 36 minutes. Groundsel, with the scientific name Senecio vulgaris, goes from seed to flower to seed in just six weeks. It is also toxic to cattle, horses, and humans.
Fat-hen seeds were recovered from a 1,700-year-old archaeological site and immediately sprouted. Weld appeared after the excavation of a 2,000-year-old Roman site in England. A single poppy head contains 1,000 seeds which can lie dormant for at least 1,000 years, and still germinate. Clearly, the plants we regard as weeds are amazingly prolific and long lasting. Just try getting rid of them in your garden.
Mabey devotes Chapter 5 to a significant contradictory notion associated with so-called weeds. They may make farming difficult by outfoxing the plants that are desirable, but they are also strongly associated with healing. In the seventeenth century, certain plants were associated with the ability to cure human ailments. The yellow of dandelion flowers was thought to indicate that they could cure urinary disorders. Hooks on burdock seeds indicated that they could draw venom from a snake bite. Of course, not only were these amazing correlations suggested by weeds, but many were actually efficacious.
Modern research, Mabey points out, has shown that many non-despised grassland weeds have higher nutritional value than the fodder grasses. Many are rich in cobalt, copper, and magnesium, all needed by grazing animals.
“Weeds” is great fun to great. It’s filled with stories of plants that go from ornaments to problems in a few plant generations. We learn that plants travel around the world with people and packaging, some causing considerable problems and others becoming valued friends. Kentucky bluegrass was once an English weed. It now is a mainstay of suburban yards, even as we decry its inordinate use of fresh water. Lawns occupy 50,000 square miles, the area of the state of Iowa, and we spend $30 billion a year on lawn maintenance, including dangerous weed killers. In some neighborhoods, homeowners are fined if they try to replace their grass with something more natural.
I hope you notice by now that “Weeds” is filled with interesting contradictions. Weeds are trouble but weeds feed insects. Weeds attract poets and playwrights. Weeds, Mabey tells us, “are our most successful cultivated crop.”