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what is a weed?

Most people are familiar with the concept of a weed. Like pornography, perhaps you will just know it when you see it. But is there a real definition for the term “weed?” Where does it come from, and what does it allow us to express? I believe “weeds” have less to do with plants, and more to do with human cultural expectations. I first started thinking seriously about weeds in the Michigan State University Beal Botanical Garden, where a dandelion plant was labeled, “would probably be considered ornamental if not so common.” This statement is obviously true; dandelion blossoms are fluffy, brightly colored, and attract bees and butterflies. The greens are also edible and nutritious. Dandelion plants are, of course, quite easy to cultivate. They could aptly be compared to chrysanthemums or asters. But instead of spending time and money acquiring these plants, most people spend time and money destroying them. Why?

The first definition for a weed that might come to mind is a group of plants. There are certain plants, like dandelions, that are weeds. They must have acquired this designation because of some inherent trait, like uselessness or a tendency to show up in food plantings. But this definition doesn’t hold up to scrutiny for very long. Burdock is commonly considered a weed, but has important medicinal qualities. Corn, certainly not a useless or unwanted plant, is often considered a weed where it “volunteers,” that is shows up in soybean or wheat fields because of fallen seeds. Ecology considers many weeds to be important first responders to disturbed sites, holding soil and preparing a seed bed for larger plants where fires or floods have destroyed the existing plant communities. Ideas about what a weed is also change greatly across time and space. Clover was not seen as a weed before the recent invention of suburban turfgrass lawns, and is not seen as a weed in more diversely planted hay fields. So the definition of a weed as a static collection of useless plants that get in the way of human goals is not a good one.

A common definition for “weed” from my days as a student of horticulture was “a plant out of place.” In other words, a weed is any plant that grows where any human doesn’t want it. This definition is very flexible and relative. If a neighbor’s tree overhangs my yard, that tree could be considered a weed by me and a valuable ornamental by my neighbor. The volunteer corn is a weed in the soybean field, but not in the corn field. Clover only becomes a weed on a baseball field, not a hay field. This definition is useful if we are trying to create a dictionary entry that will stand up to scrutiny. It’s not quite as useful if we are trying to understand the human-plant-environment relationship. What if a gardener pulls out a poppy seedling, not understanding that it will become a flower they desire? Is that seedling a weed or not? In my dispute with my neighbor about the overhanging tree branches, do we consider the tree’s perspective? By giving us the green light to consider clover a weed in our turfgrass lawns, does this definition just further the destructive landscape aesthetic that is poisoning lakes and exterminating wildlife? Considering a weed to be “a plant out of place,” we accept the premise that the proper place for all living things is where humanity dictates they belong. Such an anthropocentric conception of the world is naive, destructive, and ultimately futile.

Perhaps it would be best to think about weeding and weeds in terms of our priorities. It is important to me to produce a crop of tomatoes for nourishment and enjoyment. Therefore I have to balance my needs, the needs of the tomato plant, and the conditions of the environment. If there is crabgrass growing under my tomato plant using the water resources the tomato needs, I might pull the crabgrass out of the soil. If there are Callery pear seedlings growing around my tomato plant and blocking the sunlight it needs, I will pull the pear seedlings too. But sometimes the proper response isn’t to destroy any competitors to my tomato. If a large tree is shading my tomato plant, a better response would be to move the tomato than to treat the tree as a weed and destroy it. Likewise, if insects are feeding on the tomato plant, I might tolerate some leaf damage instead of spraying a pesticide I know will pose a danger to my health. Growing the tomato plant is a complex negotiation between me, the tomato, plant competitors, insect herbivores, and many other environmental factors. None of these parties are “weeds” in the sense of completely useless and harmful actors. Even the crabgrass is performing an important environmental function by preventing soil erosion. Without fast-growing species to stabilize disturbed soil, there might not be enough soil fertility for me to grow my tomato at all.

Marijuana, a very valuable plant, is often called weed because of its beneficial characteristics of rapid growth and tolerance of difficult growing conditions. These qualities have made it a pernicious weed to the forces of drug prohibition. Perhaps, then, “weed” is less significant of a plant’s inherent value than the ability of humans to control it. Fear of losing control, seeing our relationship with nature as less a domestic partnership and more a violent war, is central to the modern American cultural conception of plants and landscaping. We rip and cut, burn and prevent burning, drain, sculpt, and clear lands. A common sight is a new subdivision stripped of all vegetation by thunderously loud and chokingly dirty machinery. After the decadently large homes are built, tiny exotic tree species are purchased and planted, looking like so many toothpicks in a bowl of dust. These are not weeds; they are Callery pears, an exotic species from China with few pests in American landscapes. They are carefully grown by nurseries and sold for hundreds of dollars. They are painstakingly planted, staked, and watered. They have never been free of human intervention, but they have few other relationships in the landscape. Insects do not eat them. Deer are forbidden from coming near enough to eat their meager fruits. These are socially acceptable plants. Little wonder they are considered by ecologists and environmentalists to be “invasive weeds.”

When balance and management are replaced by eradication and control, it can be very profitable for those in power. Convincing people that their neighbors will look down on them if there is clover in their lawn or sumac against their fence allows chemical companies to sell herbicides. It allows landscaping companies to sell labor for brush removal. It allows equipment manufacturers to sell expensive tools, and fossil fuel extractors to sell their product to power it all. It exchanges the free processes of plant competition, seed dispersal, and herbivory for the capitalized processes of buying and selling labor and extracted inputs. Quality of life, ecosystem services, and biodiversity are not profitable considerations. This is why getting up early on a Sunday morning and powering up a loud, dirty machine to peel the only living thing off a mostly lifeless square of invasive species is considered a socially acceptable activity, while sleeping in and enjoying the sound of the birds and insects living in a chaotic tangle of weeds is not.

We can see, therefore, that the concept of “weed” is one which is more powerfully explanatory of a Western culture of control and economic system of capitalism, than one which describes any particular plant. It is also one which we should resist. We must ask ourselves when encountering something that strikes us as a weed, a nuisance, a pest, an eyesore; “who profits from this mode of thinking?” Does a lawn improve the life of a homeowner, or the petrochemical companies which parasitize and poison them? Does a weed represent a socially humiliating loss of control or a lifeline to freedom from a system which values human life as little as the homeowner once valued a dandelion?

Asclepias vulgaris Common Milkweed growing in a juniper planting. Taken by the author.

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