Wild Flowers

While wandering lonely as a cloud and all that, I noticed an outbreak of one my favourite wild flowers fighting for existence along the edge of the footpath. This flower, which I believe may be part of the geranium family, is called Herb Robert. It will have a Latin name as well, no doubt, but I don’t need to know that.

[I believe these pictures were taken by AnRo0002]

I have a weakness for wild flowers which tend to the delicate, and that can cause problems. For example, I have two lawns (sorry, Gerard) and a grass verge, all of which host colonies of that delightful flower, Veronica. So when I come to mow the grass I spend much time and effort guiding the mower around them and the job takes much longer than it otherwise would. In doing this I am reminded of Robert Frost’s poem, The Tuft of Flowers. (The content of this poem is interesting but the expression somewhat clunky.)

And every year, I rejoice in the reappearance of ivy-leaved toadflax along a certain wall – unlike the criminal who attacks them with weed killer. Why does he do that? What harm is it doing him? Ivy-leaved toadflax takes root in crevices in walls and somehow thrives on practically no soil at all, so its life is hard enough without human intervention.

I am beginning to wonder what chance these plants have in an environment dominated by people.

Frost’s poem is in couplets, as it is in my draft, but when I publish this post the couplets disappear. I have no idea why.

The Tuft of Flowers

BY ROBERT FROST

I went to turn the grass once after one

Who mowed it in the dew before the sun.

The dew was gone that made his blade so keen

Before I came to view the levelled scene.

I looked for him behind an isle of trees;

I listened for his whetstone on the breeze.

But he had gone his way, the grass all mown,

And I must be, as he had been,—alone,

As all must be,’ I said within my heart,

Whether they work together or apart.’

But as I said it, swift there passed me by

On noiseless wing a ‘wildered butterfly,

Seeking with memories grown dim o’er night

Some resting flower of yesterday’s delight.

And once I marked his flight go round and round,

As where some flower lay withering on the ground.

And then he flew as far as eye could see,

And then on tremulous wing came back to me.

I thought of questions that have no reply,

And would have turned to toss the grass to dry;

But he turned first, and led my eye to look

At a tall tuft of flowers beside a brook,

A leaping tongue of bloom the scythe had spared

Beside a reedy brook the scythe had bared.

I left my place to know them by their name,

Finding them butterfly weed when I came.

The mower in the dew had loved them thus,

By leaving them to flourish, not for us,

Nor yet to draw one thought of ours to him.

But from sheer morning gladness at the brim.

The butterfly and I had lit upon,

Nevertheless, a message from the dawn,

That made me hear the wakening birds around,

And hear his long scythe whispering to the ground,

And feel a spirit kindred to my own;

So that henceforth I worked no more alone;

But glad with him, I worked as with his aid,

And weary, sought at noon with him the shade;

And dreaming, as it were, held brotherly speech

With one whose thought I had not hoped to reach.

Men work together,’ I told him from the heart,

Whether they work together or apart.’

What a mess

Said my friend, referring to a pavement with many weeds growing along it. The weeds should be zapped with weed-killer.

Looking at it from a theological perspective I can see no justification for the term ‘weed’. All living things have been created by God yet my friend, and many others, have decided that some of them are undesirable and should be killed. This cannot be right.

The pavement, on the other hand, was created by man, and it is hard to see why the man-made should take precedence over divine creation. In my capacity as the Reverend Rod, I cannot justify this. Let the weeds take over the world.

Furthermore, as the surface of the planet is gradually covered by pavements, car parks and buildings, I have to ask where the Lord’s water is supposed to go when it rains. One thing is sure, it will not refresh the soil underneath the ever increasing acreage of concrete and tarmac. (Has anyone attempted to measure what percentage of the earth’s soil has already been lost to us?)

Soil is usually taken for granted but is actually of great importance. To quote the beginning of the Wikipedia article on the subject:

Soil is the mixture of minerals, organic matter, gases, liquids and a myriad of organisms that can support plant life. It is a natural body that exists as part of the pedosphere and it performs four important functions: it is a medium for plant growth; it is a means of water storage, supply and purification; it is a modifier of the atmosphere; and it is a habitat for organisms that take part in decomposition and creation of a habitat for other organisms.

Soil profile 236×288 38.76 KB. Units are inches. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

As we drove along the Lang Loan my friend also took a dim view of the verges. Some of the plants were approaching three feet in height. She would like to tidy them up but, there again, I have a problem. Look closely and we see that the verge is a habitat supporting many species of plants, insects, birds and small mammals, and I can find no support in scripture for moving in with our mechanical mowers and killing them all off.

Is being neat and tidy really such a good thing? Not when it comes to Nature.

Let the verges flourish, saith the preacher.