Written by Sarah Hirschfeld
It’s 3am. During a quick trip to the outhouse the dog has run off on an unapproved solo adventure. Now I am wandering down to a less often visited part of the farm, calling his name, and hoping not to wake all of the neighbors. I am stopped in my tracks by a most unwelcome sight. Not a bear or nocturnal predator, but thousands of bell-shaped flowers glowing softly in the too-early morning moonlight. Weeds. Highly invasive ones at that. I had no idea they had colonized this quiet corner. The dog came back shortly after but I found it difficult to fall back asleep, lying awake, resisting the urge to immediately go to war.
We purchased this 6-acre plot in 2021. I would class myself as somewhere between a new and an aspiring farmer. Like many others I subsidize my passion with a day job, which means farm work needs to wait for evenings and weekends. I need to plan and prioritize to get everything done. Yet here it is, another curveball to my Master Plan, because an infestation of this size should not be ignored. We aren’t organic, or officially in transition, but I also haven’t yet used any products that would compromise certification. I have spent many years studying environmental science and sustainable agriculture. There are a number of invasive weeds that I actively tolerate due to their redeeming qualities: edible, medicinal, pollinator-friendly, soil-builders, would-rather-have–it-than-thistles, etc. Disturbed soil will be populated by somebody, and there is some logic in allowing the least offensive occupiers to exist rather than fight everybody with the limited time I have. Moreover, I am exceptionally clumsy and generally can’t be trusted to safely handle the -cides.
Good intentions quickly come under scrutiny when the enemy is a prolific reproducer with a monster taproot. Honestly, the next morning was an emotional one. It’s easy to let a little flower make you wonder what you are doing here, why you thought you could succeed as the first farmer in your family in two generations, in an excessively Rocky parcel of those mountains. This time I reached for my shovel instead of the sprayer. Not to be an environmental martyr, but to show myself that I can be as persistent as a real farmer, one day at a time.
