Wild and Wooly Weeds

Prior to about 12,000 years ago we humans had lived lives of hunter-gatherers for some 200,000 years. We roamed the land, selecting what food and shelter Nature offered. We gathered and hunted the provisions we needed. Like most animals, we lived light on the land. Our numbers were few and we moved to new territories, when natural resources became scarce. Mother Nature was in the driver's seat—not us.

The accepted story of human development is that we transitioned very gradually from hunter-gatherers, by first playing a minor role as horticulturists, in the sense of coming to realize that we could encourage plants that we found useful to us, and discourage problematic plants (weeds). The major transition in our culture, however, occurred when we shifted from horticulturalists to farming, about 12,000 years ago—establishing full-fledged agriculture. There is a fine line between cultivation and agriculture... both involve planning, planting, tending, and harvesting. I think an important distinction between them is that cultivation entails working with and encouraging crops, while agriculture is more about controlling Nature.

Thus, authority and power were the role increasingly taken on by humans. That story is being challenged by recent research, which pushes our transition to agriculture at least another ten thousand years or so earlier. One of the most recent findings suggesting that we took up agriculture much earlier comes from archaeological research in Israel, which dates farming to about 23,000 years ago in the Levant. Dating techniques get ever more accurate and increasingly sophisticated analytical techniques are also yielding fascinating results. For example microanalysis of teeth plaque of skeletons reveals their eating habits; chemical analysis of fossilized poop adds to the picture; and soil analysis further broadens our understanding.

What I found captivating about this 23,000-year-old Israeli site analysis is that the researchers found that the same weeds species which plagued farmers back then are still flourishing today in gardens and fields in Israel. Many of the vegetables grown back then are no longer around—having been replaced by newer breeds—but the ancient weeds persist. (In a similar manner, Nature's insects that we consider to be pests persist.) Despite our dislike, Nature assigns a crucial task to weeds: to quickly establish themselves in disturbed soils, so as to curtail erosion. Thus we are being rather self-centered when we condemn weeds as being worthless.

It’s very interesting that Israel's farmers are today fighting battles against the same weeds their deep ancestors did. I can relate to that. Nearly four decades ago we took up residence in a very rural, wooded area in Virginia. We cleared some trees to build a house and plant a garden. Immediately thereafter, new kinds of weeds (that don't grow in the forest) found a haven in our garden. New kinds of insects (that don't grow in the forest) found our luscious vegetables. We have been fending off these weeds and bugs ever since.

I am sure that thousands of years after I’m gone, many of these same weeds and insects will continue to thrive, despite what farmers do to try to control them. They will persist, as long as future farmers continue to offer them good pickings. 

Tentative Truths

We humans have a need to know the truth. Indeed, all animals do. The principle reason for all Earth's creatures to seek the truth is simply to survive. The closer a critter's perception of the truth—the more accurate its view of reality—the better its chances of living until tomorrow. That's a universal drive of all life forms. But we humans—with our high-level cognition—take it a step or two further. We not only want the truth, but we recognize that there are layers of truth. Is this thing really true? Is my truth better than yours? On such questions the foundations of philosophy rest.

Science has its own view of truth: that it is something we never fully possess; that it is elusive; and that tomorrow's truth will negate today's. Those who lean toward the established religions tend to differ; many of them consider the Truth (capital T) to have been revealed long ago and is recorded in scripture.

I had an interesting experience about truth recently. It showed me that my ingrained assumptions about what is truthful may not always be valid; or at least that they are incomplete and/or biased and can use some periodic revision. I had paused briefly (to pee, to be truthful) by the little creek that runs by the clearing and found myself idly gazing at a scrubby brush growing at the water's edge. What an unsightly little bush! Maybe I should go and get the hand saw and cut it down, so it doesn't block my view of the picturesque stream.

Because I had a moment or two to be with my thought (about as long as it takes to empty my bladder), I began to question my assumptions about the plant's unappealing appearance. Is it really ugly? Can I choose not to see it's drabness? Isn't ugly in the eye of the beholder? Who am I to christen one plant as pretty and another as plain? What's the truth?

I have often pondered which plants to nurture and which to cull. In the first few years living out here I leaned toward importing so-called desirable (read: cultivated) trees and shrubs. I soon discovered, however, that most of them soon became undesirable—when they succumbed to diseases and various critter assaults, or required exceptional coddling. I soon came to appreciate many of Mother Nature's trees and shrubs—plants that may have looked unattractive in the woods, but when transplanted to the clearing where they had little competition for sunlight, became gorgeous. Besides, they had long ago adapted to the local environment and all its challenges and didn't require coddling.

So what is a weed? What's not a weed? To some extent, it's truly in the eye of the beholder. We decide. The dictionary tells me a weed is “a wild plant growing where it is not wanted and in competition with cultivated plants.” Well, that sure captures some of our prejudices! I decide where it's not wanted. I decide when it's in competition with a cultivated plant. I even decide what's cultivated and what's not. It makes me wonder: when I transplant a homely little sapling from the woods into the sunny clearing and prune it, does that make it a little bit cultivated?

We humans disrespect weeds, while Mother Nature has given them a critical task: quickly and vigorously to reclaim an area that's been wiped clear of vegetation, before the soil washes away; in the wake of forest fires, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and such other natural calamities. Weeds even rapidly reclaim human-caused disasters, such as warring fields.

Now, that said, if we are going to have a successful vegetable garden here on the homestead, we need to “weed” it. When we humans clear a patch of ground, fertilize it and keep it well-watered, weeds are going to out-compete our tender vegetables. Since most weeds taste bad or are toxic, we can't eat them. I'm afraid the result is that we kill and commit violence in the garden. It's us or them.

But where do we draw the line between a weed and a tomato? We have many natural plants growing around here. Some people would consider all of them weeds, but we've come to appreciate many of them for either their appearance or utility. “Jewel weed” has a pretty blossom, and juices in the plant can clear up poison ivy rashes. Pennyroyal is a tiny, homely plant whose dried leaves repel ants. Spring beauty is a wildflower (about as hardy as a “weed”) that has become one of my favorites. Autumn olive is a scrubby, invasive bush tree that grows even faster than most weeds, yet yields a good-tasting berry that possesses more lycopene than a tomato. Wild plum trees do poorly in the woods (crowded out by larger trees), but when transplanted to the clearing they become bonsai-like beauties that fill the spring air with intoxicating perfume.

I can create a lot of unnecessary work for myself if I get overzealous in my definition of a weed, which then forces me to expend much time and energy trying to eradicate or tame them. Why not put that effort into other things and let some of the weeds be? Can I find ways to encourage their natural beauty? They are finding ways to teach me to let go of some of my prejudices.

Earliest Ag?

A seminal event in the evolution of our species Homo sapiens occurred when we transitioned from a hunter-gatherer existence to a horticultural/agricultural way of life. For hundreds of thousands of years or longer we lived in small bands of a couple dozen or so closely-related people—surviving on what we could scavenge in the way of wild plants and animals. We were hunter-gatherers. When food became scarce in one location, we'd move on, seeking places that offered more sustenance. We were wanderers.

An enormous change in our lives happened when we discovered that we need not gather and eat only what Mother Nature provided freely, but that we could select for and encourage those plants that were tastiest and most nutritious. We transitioned from hunter-gatherers to cultivators. We also discovered that the meat we'd come to crave didn't always have to be hunted down in the wild, but that we could domesticate some of the more tame critters to supply our protein. Very slowly we transitioned from wanderers to settled people—living all year long in one location and building permanent dwellings.

One of the biggest changes that this development brought to Homo sapiens—and one we continue to struggle with—is that our communities grew larger. Whereas hunter-gatherer bands contained at most a few dozen people, we began forming villages of several hundred or more people. It made life a lot more challenging to find ways to allow humans to live together in crowded situations, without constantly getting in each others' faces. Violence and its associated moral dilemmas are problems that we have struggled with ever since. While we had hundreds of thousands (maybe millions) of years to find out ways to get along as hunter-gatherers, we've had only several thousand years to figure out how to live in crowded conditions, without waging constant wars. We're still working on it.

How long ago did that transition to agriculture occur? When did we settle down and begin to create cities and nations? Until recently, the accepted date was about 12 thousand years ago. Archaeological evidence suggested that humans invented agriculture and domesticated animals in the Middle East about then. Of course, the transition took some time—it wasn't an “overnight sensation.”

A recent discovery in Israel, however, seems to push that date much further back—to about 23 thousand years ago. Ancient settlements along the Sea of Galilee from that time have been carefully examined. Researchers found permanent huts, hearths, stone tools, and animal and plant remains. Precursors to domestic plants were also discovered; such as wheat, barley, lentils, figs, grapes, etc.

What I find fascinating is that the clincher to the fact that these 23-thousand-year-old people were farming is that they fought weeds invading their food plantings. What kinds of weeds? The same two prolific varieties that pester farms in Israel today. It seems that after humans clear some land, cultivate the soil, maybe fertilize it a little, what comes next? Weeds. Mother Nature abhors a cleared piece of land, so she created weeds. Our deep ancestors cultivated some of the first crops that humans grew, and had to deal with the same weedy critters that we do today. Fascinating.

Does it matter that we've now discovered that Homo sapiens settled down much longer ago that we'd thought? Maybe not. Maybe it tells us that we've had nearly twice as long to accommodate to an urban lifestyle, and that we should be further along than we are. That could be fodder for evolutionary psychologists who try to understand why our minds work the way they do. Maybe it tells us that we shouldn't get too locked into one theory of how we evolved. Maybe it has deeper implications about human nature, that we have yet to figure out. Maybe it's just more evidence that weeds are here to stay in our human-horticultured world.