Thirty years ago, while living on a farm in Reynolds, Missouri, I used to help a neighboring hill woman in her large, wonderful garden in exchange for fresh farm eggs and firewood. As we pulled weeds, Mrs. Glore, who was old enough to have outlived three husbands, would declare: “Why, youse can eat these. It’s lamb’s-quarters. It’s wild spinach, and it’s good fer ya! Even better than the store-bought kind!” She’d incorporate the weeds into the evening’s dinner, doubling or tripling the yield of her garden. Over the years, I’ve developed my own appreciation for plants that others yank out and throw away. Weeds have survived centuries of adversity and are often much more durable than cultivated plants. Many do well without irrigation, are resistant to frost and trampling, and offer themselves freely and abundantly.
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