Thursday, October 20, 2011
Monday, October 17, 2011
Such a rusty fall,
coloring the rains that...
plop in wet drips,
and the air, with fluttering leaves
falling through chimney-smoked cloudy skies
ridge behind ridge behind ridge...
that lead beyond... hmmm...
Such a rusty fall
hums a forgiving
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Thursday , October 20th from 5-8 pm in the Gallery the FRC Writing Club (Hannah and I?) are hosting a Reading of Writers' Work. Bring something you would like to share to read. I'll have a packet of writing goodies info available as well and a short writing quick write. All subjects considered. Please pass along information! more info contact me at this email or firstname.lastname@example.org. Phone 530 375-0580. I will be reading a soon to be published story. Free Admission. Any donations will go to the Speaker's Fund.
Margaret Elysia Garcia
Margaret Elysia Garcia
[Originally published 9/2/1080 in the Green Mountain Gazette with different photos.]
Like most of us, I was taught at an early age that weeds are the enemy. As an 8-year-old gardener in rocky New England soil, I was recruited by my parents to weed the beans, cabbages, turnips, and other vegetables I hated. Early on, I sided with the weeds. The weeds and I were allies in the garden wars, each of us in his own way resolved to defeat certain vegetable crops.
I had the same attitude toward weeding the lawn. I thought dandelions were beautiful, but my brother and I were paid a penny per dandelion to remove them by the roots. Naturally, it was to our advantage to leave a few.
My fondness for weeds had a firm foundation. They were a source of income, and they helped me to avoid having to eat certain vegetables. Now that I've grown to love nearly all vegetables and I no longer earn my living in weed control, my fascination with weeds has shifted to a different basis.
Why are certain plants considered to be weeds in the first place? Some plants are considered by some people to be unsightly and, therefore, to be weeds. But the aesthetic qualities of a plant are obviously a subjective matter. One person's weed is another person's ornamental. Being a sort of weed myself, I usually side with the minority. I definitely like dandelions and thistles better than roses.
From the standpoint of agriculture, a weed is a plant that interferes with the cultivation of another plant. Thus, a daisy can be a weed to the wheat farmer and vice versa. This makes sense up to a point. However, in this age of gigantic monocultures - whether of food crops or lumber - it seems that 99 percent of all plant life is in danger of being relegated to the weed category. I can appreciate a good whole wheat muffin or a fancy knotty pine kitchen, but I think the daisies, bark beetles, gooseberries, and porcupines have their place, too.
To all the weed killers among you, it can be a humbling experience to consider a biological definition of weeds along with some possible human analogies. The biologists' concept has more to do with ecology than aesthetics. Weeds are plants which have traveled far from their place of origin or 'native' habitat and taken root in 'disturbed" ground. Some local plants that are weeds by that criterion are mullein, sweet clover, prickly poppy, most of the thistles, most daisies, yarrow, fleabanes, goldenrods, Jimson weed, bindweed, hemp, spearmint, etc., etc.
I like the weeds because of their pioneering spirit, their persistence in the face of adversity, in spite of their being uninvited guests. I identify with them because I, too, am an uninvited guest. My ancestors are Europeans. As I and they moved westward, we cut swaths in the native habitat, paving the way for millions more weeds like ourselves.
It seems to me that we should keep this in mind before we self-righteously pull, poison, trample and/or insult our many beautiful weeds.
[It occurs to me that the participants in today's Occupy Wall Street movement are considered weeds by the 1% who run things. Maybe we can learn some survival lessons from the weeds.]
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Writing is a Timeless occupation. The writer creates moments in his mind's Time The flow of the story controls the speed of light and the hand on the clock. Earthquakes happened tomorrow on the geologist’s watch give or take 10,000 years. For this Archaeologist, Man’s debris unfolds in periods of Early, Middle, and Late. Now at the end of my time I would like to suspend my clock for a year or two and watch time creep. Mike Reagan