I read an article in a recent Temple Daily Telegram about the proliferaton of weeds as a result of the much needed rainfall we’ve had in the area lately. The rain and mild winter have brought not only the wildflowers out in force, but weeds have popped up too, even among the wildflowers. Jon Gersbach, a Texas AgriLife Extentsion agent interviewed in the article, refers to weeds as “misplaced plants.” He also says, “There are no bad plants, just misplaced plants.”
I love the phrase, “misplaced plants.” The English major in me immediately saw similarity between literal weeds and symbolic weeds. Dandelions are pretty – first as yellow flowers and then as the little ball of fluff that kids (and kids at heart) like to blow and watch the seeds fly through the air. I remember blowing on a dandelion in our yard one time and having my husband freak out because I was blowing little seeds that would produce more dandelions. Paul does not like weeds in the yard, even the pretty ones. Drive into the country and out of the land of manicured lawns, and the dandelions and other flowery weeds look right at home in open fields. One of my favorite prolific “misplaced plants” has been the bastard cabbage. The top is a pretty yellow flower that looks like a wildflower on the top but looks like a weird cabbage near the ground.
At first I related “misplaced plants” to people because not everyone fits into society’s expectations of appearance and success. Thinking about weeds and people more, though, I decided I don’t like the comparison. Who am I to say which person is a wildflower and which person is a weed? I’ve become very conscious lately about judging others. On a side note, I dislike websites and forwarded emails that make fun of other people, like the people in Wal-Mart photos.
Instead of relating weeds to people, I’m pondering the relation of weeds to difficult circumstances. For instance, our move and extended separation from Paul, although difficult, has made me appreciate Paul more. I’m also looking forward to renewing old friendships, and I think I’ll probably live in the kitchen of our new house. I’ve also become more independent (I can change most light bulbs), yet I have relied on help from neighbors and friends (I can’t reach certain light bulbs, and ladders freak me out. Don’t even get me started on the attic.) more than ever.
Although the bastard cabbage has choked out some of the bluebonnets this season, I’ve also learned to appreciate the pretty yellow flowers.