I am convinced: weeds have intelligence. Those pesky, long stemmed, yellow weeds talk amongst themselves as the mower approaches. “Lie down, she’s coming,” they say. I want to knock them down like a machete wielding madwoman, but when I look behind the mower, I see them laughing and dancing in the sunshine. How do they do that? If I were run over by a giant rotating blade I would be cut to shreds to lie bleeding on the ground.

Another thing: how do weeds know how to disguise themselves and grow near desirable plants, intertwining roots, taking advantage of shade and available water? What I thought was a healthy, fast growing astilbe turned out to be, on closer inspection, a struggling shrub surrounded by thistles. From a distance the leaves looked exactly the same. Horticulturists say that weeds grow in conditions similar to the plants they emulate. But what about horses tail among the carrots, or buttercups under the radishes? On the other hand, dandelions have evolved to be the bullies of the weed world. They grow anywhere without trying to hide. Maybe it’s better when weeds try to fit in. At least from the surface everything is beautiful.

Weeds Run Amok