I recently read an article in the New York Times about weeds. Weeds, apparently, can be immigrants, much like people. Kentucky blue grass is just old green English grass, boring and not much to look at until you get it under a brilliant Kentucky sky.
Weeds have moved around the world, hitching rides on boats and pant cuffs and blankets. Weeds start in one place and end up in another, and in that way, weeds are like people. According to legend, myth, and anthropological studies, we started in Africa and moved up and down and everywhere, leaving the place we came from to settle in others. And then some of us moved and moved again, until now, there’s no more west left to find, no where new to go.
But along the way, people stuck to certain earths, and those earthen spots became theirs. This is my land (okay, and maybe your land, too, if you have a green card). We continue to make lines in the dirt, enact laws, and try to keep the weeds out. (No, I will not erase that border!) But the drawing of lines doesn’t work because long before we had lines and laws, we had the wind blowing us. We still have the itch to travel, to move, to go, to live in other spots. Think of it this way: without airplanes, cars, trains, or even wheels, humans got from Africa to the Antarctic. Why would we stop wanting to move now?
But I’m partial to my little section of earth and the bigger concentric rings around my little section. I’m okay with where I am and what we are calling it. I’m glad other people did a lot of hard work so that I can live where I am living and I thank them. But when you look at us at weeds, I think of a big field. Imagine the dandelions trying to keep the Queen Anne’s lace out of the north forty. Or the spurge trying to choke out the blackberries. It’s all earth, all field. Weeds don’t fight. They pretty much grow.
We don’t seem to have that kind of intelligence.
Causes Jessica Inclán Supports
Women for Women International Goodwill Industries Lindsey Wildlife Museum Freecycle.org