Weed Better Get Going
Episode 9: Time's A Wastin'!
April 26, 2022
Friends: In a month (more or less), I will have rocked 26 years in Urbana after living in Chicago for a few years (and Minneapolis-St. Paul before that). I have many thoughts about the years I’ve spent here, but here’s what I’m thinking right now, in this moment of creating Episode 9 of BYI:
I walked home this morning after yoga practice to see what was coming up in people’s yards, because I’m a busybody like that. Something about the weather at 7 AM, plus the exact part of the spring we’re in, made me think of the last 26 springs, especially the decades’ worth of calendar notes made: When, exactly, in April 2001 the trees fully leafed out (April 23); when the first fern of the season relaxed like an unclenching fist (in 2019, that day was May 5); when I heard the first house wren of the season (in 2022, that happened on April 25). Time passes, things are different, etc, but in many ways, they’re almost exactly the same. Or recognizable, at least.
Except for what I call damn shames.
What’s a damn shame, you ask? A damn shame is when a new homeowner or landlord doesn’t recognize something incredible growing in their yard (a “weed”) and kill it by either poisoning it or mowing it again and again until it just gives up. This assault usually takes place in the plant’s off-season, when it’s not flowering or otherwise showy, and its destruction is noticeable mostly to people who have lived in a place for awhile and mark time by the appearance of certain arrays of plants in certain places at certain times. You know, busybodies. Like me.
I have three major damn shames just in my neighborhood (the minor ones are innumerable), and this is one of them. This tiny survivor is all that’s left of a majestic row of peonies that have been mercilessly mowed for the past six (?) years by someone who has no idea what kept trying to come out of the ground. It is, as I’m sure you’ve guessed by now, a damn shame, because those flowers were incredible when they bloomed every late May.
What am I saying here? Oh, I dunno. Let’s spend some time in the weeds so we can see what’s really happening and we don’t end up talking ruefully about damn shames?I’m wired to spend as much of my personal time as possible in the weeds, literally and figuratively. I know many others do not feel this way, but I love being in the weeds. I love seeing what’s in there, I love all that growth even if it’s not in a preferred spot, and I love dealing with weeds respectfully, clearing space after getting the full picture.
Experienced this past weekend: New neighbors and former neighbors discovering each other in the driveway and in the street in a way not seen since before the pandemic. It was M A G I C A L in its everydayness; that unforced, coincidental conviviality is one thing from the Before Times that I hope makes a robust return. It's almost like… tweeting! Or postcards! BUT IN PERSON! I’m not sure why I give away so much of my attention to my phone under the guise of “knowing what’s going on”, because I sure as heck learned a lot in that hour outside, in the sun, on a breezy Saturday morning.
Saturday night, we had tacos and drinks with friends we hadn’t seen in person for quite some time. They’re longtime pals we made when our youngest and their oldest were five years old, and the friendship has remained even with all the kids largely on their own. We have much in common. Jobs and cats continue to make demands. We cook. We wrestle with the news of the day. We’re suddenly aging a bit in a time of increased weirdness and uncertainty.
I appreciated, as always, their optimism in conversation, and I’m always super-encouraged by their devotion to supporting our community, to doing good. I think it’s necessary to spend as much time as possible in that space of cheerful, intelligent pragmatism. But, I think to myself, I’m so angry.
The first trays of seedlings came outside on Sunday to harden off before going into the ground, which…well, hasn’t happened yet. It looks like it might be a week or two (scream emoji) before I can make that happen due to the weather*.
Y’all, the weather! Nothing happening here, where I live, is totally unheard of (I take notes), but it does feel like a lot of unusual for one spring. And we have it good here. I have long maintained that this is one of the best places to be, given all that climate change is starting to throw at us in earnest, but I also notice that farmers haven’t really started planting yet in the farms surrounding Urbana-Champaign. It feels late, and it’s unsettling.
Speaking of farms: My eyes could feast all day on old barns and farm outbuildings. When they're gone, they're gone—architectural ephemera is replaced by metal sheds. Progress, I guess? Reclaiming that wood for fences or art projects is cool, but damn. Barns deserve more respect! There are so many deshingled, unpainted, empty, rotting barns on the flatlands of central Illinois. I miss the ones that have finally fallen apart, their remnants used as welcome signage, or maybe repurposed as fencing, or perhaps lending that rustic rental an air of rural authenticity.
Years ago, I promised Cody we’d hit the back roads between Urbana-Champaign and Springfield and take photos of old barns before they fell down or otherwise had to come down. We never did. Now, every time we take what we call “the shortcut” to Jim’s parents’ house, I am filled with regret that a) we did not capture a couple of barns in particular and, more importantly b) that I never made good on that promise to Cody.
Maybe I can make it right. Will the barns I have in mind still be standing by the time our schedules match?
I made this for you. Inspirations: Jim + conversations (recent and long past) with my friends Clayton and Ted and Kristina and Beth and Sarah and Russell and Chank. And my dad.
LOTSA (Lisa’s Open Tabs, Saved Aggressively):
Green-House (h/t Jay at Landline)
Compost piles and produce stickers (h/t Smitten Kitchen)
I thought the theme song from this show was from 1964
I had no idea Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi died last year :(
Great work from University of Michigan around urban agriculture (thx Bruce)
Welp, new favorite band is now Part Chimp (play “Wallow” first)
Very much enjoyed the most recent edition of Last Gasp
*There’s a frost warning as I write this on Monday, 4/25.
Unsettling indeed. It is certainly not late, but we, and our neighbors, are getting a bit antsy as this cold, wet weather continues. And have you heard about this podcast? https://thefern.org/podcasts/hot-farm/ And I can’t wait to listen to the playlist!
Thank you, Lisa, for this breath of fresh air! Also trying to stay in that "space of cheerful, intelligent pragmatism" and to "bloom where planted," even in soils less accommodating than those of central Illinois.