I don’t weed my garden. And no, not because I’m lazy. This confession often confuses

my neighbors, who take great pride in their manicured lawns and pristine flower beds.

They see my lush, green space and assume I’ve simply fallen behind on my chores. 

 

         But the truth runs much deeper than mere procrastination. My refusal to weed stems from this underlying idea of fairness that has taken root in my mind and refuses to let go.

Those so-called weeds have names. We just never cared to learn them because they’re

so common—to the point that we don’t think they’re ever going to go extinct. We see

them pushing through cracks in the sidewalk, spreading across vacant lots, and carpeting fields with their determined presence. Their abundance has made us blind to their individuality, their history, their very right to exist. 

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         We have reached the point that we think it’s annoying how well they adapt to harsh environments. Instead of marveling at their resilience, we curse their persistence. We hate  their vitality but overlook the genes that survived centuries with the help of natural selection— genes that have weathered droughts, floods, insects, and ice ages long before we ever cultivated our first garden.

 

         Is it the fault of the bramble seed to grow where the wind takes it? Does the clover deliberately send its runners into the rose bed? Does the dandelion conspire to land in

the center of your lawn? No, the fault is ours when we fail to see the good qualities. The fault lies in our refusal to look beyond our narrow definitions of beauty and usefulness. Rubus fruticosus, or more commonly known as brambles, famously known for being fully edible. Brambles have been traditionally used to make jams, wines, and teas to treat diarrhea, sore throat, and dysentery. For centuries, our ancestors welcomed brambles into their hedgerows, harvesting their fruits and medicines with gratitude. 

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         When did we decide that their generosity was actually greed?

 

         But brambles are just the beginning. Take clover, for instance, with its trifoliate leaves and delicate white or pink flowers. Trifolium repens, as botanists call it, has been cursed by lawn enthusiasts for generations. Yet this humble plant works miracles beneath our feet. Clover is a nitrogen-fixer, hosting bacteria on its roots, transforming atmospheric nitrogen into a natural soil fertilizer. It stays green all summer without watering,  feeds hungry bees with its nectar, and when you walk on it barefoot, its softness rivals any spiky grass lawn. Children sought four-leaf clovers for luck, never realizing that every three-leaf clover was already lucky—lucky enough to enrich the earth itself. 

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         Then there’s Taraxacum Officinale, or the dandelion, contain rich vitamins A, C, and K and can be consumed in salads or tea to promote digestive health and liver function. Those bright yellow blooms of beauty nodding in the spring sunshine are not just cheerful—they are nutritious medicine. Every inch of the dandelion, from root to flower, offers something valuable. Yet, we want to weed them out from our garden, flower by flower, root by root until they don’t exist in our garden anymore. We spend millions of dollars on chemicals designed specifically to destroy them, poisoning our soil and water in the process.

 

         But if everyone does this—if everyone weeds their garden with ruthless efficiency, eliminating every bramble, every clover, every dandelion—and they don’t exist in anybody else’s gardens, they’ll eventually go extinct. Maybe then we can start to see their value. But by then it will be too late. We have created a hierarchy in our minds where rarity equals worthiness. We fail to see that these species are extinct because of our own actions; and the only way to stop the cycle is to recognize the origin instead of doing damage control when it’s too late. We cannot keep destroying what is common today only to mourn it tomorrow.

 

         This idea that some species should be destroyed simply because there’s too many is dangerous. When we look at historical tragedies of genocides, it stems from the same idea. We single out a specific species or race, label them as all bad, and convince ourselves that they are better gone. I do not make this comparison lightly. The pattern of thought is what concerns me—the ability to devalue life based on abundance, to justify eradication based on inconvenience. If we can look at a living thing and decide it deserves to die simply because it grows where we don’t want it, we have embraced a logic that has led humanity to some of its darkest moments.

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         We can look at these plants just like how we look at people. Everyone possesses good qualities that we can learn from if we just open our eyes to the good things instead of just the bad. Every person, like every plant, has a story, a purpose, a reason for being exactly where they are. Instead of looking for reasons to hate, we can choose to love and learn from those around us. 

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         Next time when you go to your garden, don’t frown upon the luscious plants. Instead, appreciate them for teaching us persistence, resilience, and ambition. See in the bramble their determination. See in the dandelion their beauty. See in the clover their hard work and humility.

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         The weeds, as we call them, have as much right to the sun and rain as the vegetables I plant. Sometimes more, because they arrived first. They were here long before we decided which plants deserved protection and which deserved poison. My garden teaches me that fairness can be found in the choices we make every day. The choice to destroy or appreciate.