Leaves fell last night, a sampling, not too many, spackled against the still green grass, the start of it all, flurries day by day until a big wind takes every last one, and the leaves are deep enough for a toddler to stomp through. Remember? Throwing yourself into a huge, thick mess of leaves raked by your dad? The smell of the neighbor's burning pile? Air as crisp as the leaves?
Back in the days of newspaper comics - the funny pages - I followed a strip called, "Our Miss Peach", about a kindergarten teacher and her students. One of her students, Arthur, kept a garden, a weed garden. All the kids made fun of him; he didn't care. He just went on tending his weed garden. It was amusing to me then, and I get it now. I have a weed garden, not because I intended, not at first, anyway, but because it's the end of growing season. Didn't plant much this summer, so most of the garden was left fallow. Weeds grew, and I let them, as long as they didn't threaten what I did plant. And then I let them grow because I was curious about these things that we're always so anxious to kill. Now, as we move into Fall, there are no more vegetables to pick but a jungle of weeds so thick and varied it's like walking into another world, a Garden of Eden from an alien planet. I stand in the midst of them, so they're all I can see. Some are ground plants. Many come up to my chest. Some grow over my head, I mean really over, like wild lettuce! Huh? That soccer ball sized clutch of smooth leaves started off as wide, jagged leaves on a thin stalk ten feet high.There are gold and purple flowers, purple thyme, deep rose pink echinacia, purple loosestrife, white caterpillar shaped flowers with stripes of blue like a spine on its dorsal side, vines everywhere, stuff I recognize, stuff I don't, but all of it fascinating for me and Arthur. I wonder why more of them aren't cultivated? Probably, because nobody's thought of a way to use them. I wonder which of them have been cultivated, lettuce aside? Of course, I love a lush, flush, tended vegetable garden. It's wonderful, and it pleases me aesthetically as well as materially. I love to stand in the middle of it and watch it grow. Nothing like eating an acorn squash that you've planted yourself, or a radish, or an eggplant, but they're not exotic. That's my point. Salads are wonderful, but they are commonplace; no matter how fancy, no matter how much smoked duck is on the plate, they're still salads. The beauty of a garden is that it gives us a harvest that we've expected and looked forward to time and time again. The familiarity is the magic. Here comes an old friend. Let's have lunch.
But, it's not exotic, it's expected, it's what we know, we're safe! Weeds aren't safe. They've entrenched exactly where you don't want them. Wild, untamed; they strangle their rivals, suck their essence. However, it's not helpful or pleasant to think of weeds as "weeds", enemies to be demolished by any means, but as exotic creations with properties as yet to be discovered.You're surprised by what comes up and where. You're walking along and spot wild strawberry which looks a lot like a weed. Dark green leaves. Nearly flat to the ground. Tiny, tiny berries. Then there's thyme on the hillside and golden rod in the meadow. Recognize these weeds do have purpose: they support other creatures. Milkweed, for example, prime rib for Monarch butterflies. RoseHips, M & M's for grouse and deer. Wild berries hoovered by bears. Dandelions for bees and swallowtails. Actually, I like dandelions a lot, a whole yard full, gold buttons, pixie caps, little smiles. They make me happy, and then they become puffballs absolutely perfect for a mouthful of air blown by a curious little boy of two. There was a time when dandelions all over the lawn were valued and preferred, even cultivated. Their leaves are good in a mescalune salad. Once upon a time, every plant on earth was a weed. The Garden of Eden must've been flush with weeds except for that sinful apple tree, the Tree of Knowledge. Adam and Eve were not allowed to know anything. Keep 'em ignorant, right? No words. Just grunts. Accept your happy lot. Nothing to worry about. Anxiety disorders millions of years in the future. Barefoot and naked. Don''t ask questions. They did. Their punishment was eternal. Does any of this sound familiar? A lot of people accept the answer without ever asking the question. That's where we break with tradition. Two Jews, three opinions, right? You can actually argue with God and win. My sentiment is that if I can argue with God I can argue with you. Ready?
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