What Is A Weed

September 21, 2018

Thanks to Alissa Simon, HMU Tutor, for today’s post.

According to Merriam-Webster, a weed is either A) a plant that is not valued where it is growing, or B) an obnoxious growth, thing or person. In better understanding how we use the term “weed” and what it signifies, I want to demonstrate how categories perform in speech. (FYI, while I will not be discussing marijuana in this post, which is commonly known as “weed.” Though not addressed here, that discussion would likely add additional highlights to the problematic idea of categories.)

According to definition A, a weed may fall into two categories. In the right location, a weed may be prized (thus making it the opposite of a weed). In other cases it may be obnoxious, or growing over the more desirable plants, such as native plants or landscaped gardens. So definition A means that plants have a value in their specific place. Profundity of growth turns into a metaphor, which in definition B extends to more negative aspects of the term.

Weeds as a category are really interesting for no other reason than the fact that the category stems from something completely subjective. I learned to pull the weeds that my parents did not like. According to their neighbors, however, they may have misapplied the term. Take the dandelion, for example. It was brought to the United States by not one group, but at least three: pilgrims in the east, Spaniards in the west, and French through Canada. Often used in medicines and herbal teas, dandelions proved to be easy to grow and also helpful. However, they spread rapidly due to the seed’s ability to fly far. Though there is no major negative aspect to dandelions, many people today do not like their ability to overtake lawns. I find this idea of a perfectly manicured lawn ironic, too, though. Grass is also, more often than not, an invasive species. Both dandelions and grass grow rapidly and are quick to overrun other plants. In other words, it seems like we do not like weeds in our weeds! So instead, we pull dandelions in favor of grass. The point is, one weed is desired while the other is not. Why do we call grass “grass” instead of weed? Why do we call wild grasses weeds, but not grass? Are we aware of the preconceived notions which formed these categories?

This idea of removing a weed to save a weed is a particularly human construct. The label refers not to the uselessness of an object (either grass or dandelions can have utility, depending upon preference and needs). Rather, dandelions become a weed because they are ugly, aggressive, overabundant and out of control. There is a value system here that enlightens culture.

I live in a desert in which we have many, many natural grasses, but none of them typical lawn grass. Yet still, people often choose to grow a nice green lawn for various reasons, all of which requires a lot of effort. Lush green grass really does not thrive with little water and long, hot days. Instead, a cultural value has been placed upon the environment here. We value the cool, green, nicely trimmed lawn, but not wild grasses which grow tall and seed rapidly. What reasons can we give for this illogical behavior?

Some of Wittgenstein’s words on the power of language come to mind. In his Philosophical Investigations (#491), he writes, “Not: ‘without language we could not communicate with one another’ - but for sure: without language we cannot influence other people in such-and-such ways; cannot build roads and machines, etc. And also: without the use of speech and writing people could not communicate.” In other words, whether we know it or not, language influences our decisions. Why do we have grass in our yards? Because we don’t want to live among the weeds.

Wittgenstein continues (in #499), “To say ‘This combination of words makes no sense’ excludes it from the sphere of language and thereby bounds the domain of language. But when one draws a boundary it may be for various kinds of reason. If I surround an area with a fence or a line or otherwise, the purpose may be to prevent someone from getting in or out; but it may also be part of a game and the players be supposed, say, to jump over the boundary; or it may shew where the property of one man ends and that of another begins; and so on. So if I draw a boundary line that is not yet to say what I am drawing it for.” Language, structured by grammar, is a sort of game which enables us to “play” on the same field. I want to emphasize Wittgenstein’s words that language draws boundaries, but doesn’t clearly state why the boundary exists.

This is important in parsing everyday speech where one can rely on a metaphor to make universal meaning. That meaning, however, is not universal, it just seems universal. Returning to our example, we cannot all agree on types and styles of weeds. We do not pull the same things out of our yards, some of us refer to sage and mint as weeds, while others let these grow. Are the words “weed” and “dandelion” synonymous? If I speak of weeds (and not dandelions, for example), am I stating something explicitly? If so, what? This example highlights differences between regions and cultures, but also difference in the term itself. It also highlights the fact that the mere idea of “weed” is useful in the English language. It fits into Wittgenstein’s game because it draws a boundary.

The idea of “weed” is useful in another way also. It clarifies a recent move away from a more classical theory of forms. In classical theory, categories were thought to be independent of individual human preferences. It was assumed that the form of a thing was also its essence. However, when discussing weeds, I am hard-pressed to find a universal form. Instead, this is a category that more closely resembles George Lakoff’s research into protoype theory. In Women, Fire and Dangerous Things, he writes that prototype theory “suggests that human categorization is essentially a matter of both human experience and imagination – of perception, motor activity, and culture on the one hand, and of metaphor, metonymy, and mental imagery on the other” (8). Therefore, we can say something benign like “He grows like a weed” to indicate a child has grown quickly. Or, we can “weed a garden,” an action dedicated to the removal of unwanted things, or “weed out” the problems. While I have not thought through every weed-related example, I do see how those provided problematize classical categories. “Weed” itself is a haphazard collection of personal experience and emotion.

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Autumn Color

November 3, 2017

Thanks to Alissa Simon, HMU Tutor, for today's post.

In celebration of fall color, today's blog offers excerpts from both Rachel Carson and Aldo Leopold. Both passages celebrate life, love and the mystery of nature. They also ask deep questions about the human place within nature. Changing colors and seasons present the perfect time for reflection. Enjoy – and happy fall!

 Photo credit: Alissa Simon

Photo credit: Alissa Simon

From Under the Sea-Wind by Rachel Carson, chapter 11 “Indian Summer of the Sea”

“The spirit of the autumn sea was heard in the voices of the kittiwakes, or frost gulls, who began to arrive in flocks by mid-October. They whirled in thousands over the water, dropping down on arched wings to seize small fish that darted through translucent green. The kittiwakes had come southward from nesting grounds on the cliffs of the Artic coast and the Greenland ice packs, and with them the first chill breath of winter moved over the graying sea.

“There were other signs that autumn had come to the sea. Every day the flights of ocean birds, that in September had poured in thin aerial streams over the coastal waters from Greenland, Labrador, Keewatin, and Baffin Land, swelled in volume as the birds hastened to return to the sea. There were gannets and fulmars, jaegers and skuas, dovekies and phalaropes. Their flocks spread out over all the waters above the continental shelf, where the shoals of surface fishes moved and the plankton herds browsed in the sea. ….

“Few of these birds would see land again until spring. Now they belonged once more to the winter sea, sharing its daylight and darkness, its storms and calms, its sleet and snow and sun and fog. ….

“Slowly the summer warmth was drained from the water. The young crabs, mussels, barnacles, worms, starfish, and crustaceans of scores of species had disappeared from the plankton, for in the ocean spring and summer are the seasons of birth and youth. Only to some of the simplest creatures did the Indian summer of the sea bring a brief and flaring renewal of life, so that they multiplied a millionfold. Among these were the one-celled animals, or protozoa, small as pinpricks, which are among the chief light producers of the sea. Ceratium, the horned one – a blog of protoplasm with three grotesque prongs – sprinkled the night seas of October with silver points of light and so filled the surface waters that over vast areas the sea lay thickened and moved sluggishly under the wind. The little globes of Noctiluca – just visible to the human eye – were each aglitter with submicroboscopic grains of light within themselves. During this autumnal period of their great abundance, every fish that moved where the swarms of protozoa were most dense was bathed in light; the waves that broke on reef or shoal spilled liquid fire; and every dip of a fisherman's oar was a flash of a torch in the darkness.”


From “November”, A Sand County Almanac by Aldo Leopold

“November is, for many reasons, the month for the axe. It is warm enough to grind an axe without freezing, but cold enough to fell a tree in comfort. The leaves are off the hardwoods, so that one can see just how the branches intertwine, and what growth occurred last summer. Without this clear view of treetops, one cannot be sure which tree, if any, needs felling for the good of the land.

“I have read many definitions of what is a conservationist, and written not a few myself, but I suspect that the best one is written not with a pen, but with an axe. It is a matter of what a man thinks about while chopping, or while deciding what to chop. A conservationist is one who is humbly aware that with each stroke he is writing his signature on the face of his land. Signatures of course differ, whether written with axe or pen, and this is as it should be.

“I find it disconcerting to analyze, ex post facto, the reasons behind my own axe-in-hand decisions. I find, first of all, that not all trees are created free and equal. Where a white pine and a red birch are crowding each other, I have an a priori bias; I always cut the birch to favor the pine. Why?

“Well, first of all, I planted the pine with my shovel, whereas the birch crawled in under the fence and planted itself. My bias is thus to some extent paternal, but this cannot be the whole story, for if the pine were a natural seedling like the birch, I would value it even more. So I must dig deeper for the logic, if any, behind my bias.

“The birch is an abundant tree in my township and becoming more so, whereas pine is scarce and becoming scarcer; perhaps my bias is for the underdog. But what would I do if my farm were further north, where pine is abundant and red birch is scarce? I confess I don't know. My farm is here.

“The pine will live for a century, the birch for half of that; do I fear that my signature will fade? My neighbors have planted no pines but all have many birches; am I snobbish about having a woodlot distinction? The pine stays green all winter, the birch punches the clock in October; do I favor the tree that, like myself, braves the winter wind? The pine will shelter a grouse but the birch will feed him; do I consider bed more important than board? The pine will ultimately bring ten dollars a thousand, the birch two dollars; have I an eye on the bank? All of these possible reasons for my bias seem to carry some weight, but none of them carries very much.

“So I try again, and here perhaps is something; under this pine will ultimately grow a trailing arbutus, an Indian pipe, a pyrola, or a twin flower, whereas under the birch a bottle gentian is about the best to be hoped for. In this pine a pileated woodpecker will ultimately chisel out a nest; in the birch a hairy will have to suffice. In this pine the wind will sing for me in April, at which time the birch is only rattling naked twigs. These possible reasons for my bias carry weight, but why? Does the pine stimulate my imagination and my hopes more deeply than the birch does? If so, is the difference in the trees, or in me?

“The only conclusion I have ever reached is that I love all trees, but I am in love with pines.

“As I said, November is the month for the axe, and, as in other love affairs, there is skill in the exercise of bias.”

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Powell's Adventures

May 26, 2017

Thanks to Alissa Simon, HMU Tutor, for today's post.

Many veterans have shaped our history in both service through military and then ongoing service after their military careers. All military contributions are incalculable, but important for contemplation and discussion. Additionally, the contributions of those once they have left military service is worth our contemplation. Veterans often face great unknowns in their military career, and then upon leaving the service, they return to yet another unknown. In returning to civilian life they have families, find jobs, but lose the military structure. Today's blog discusses the life of one soldier who founded a life on adventure.

Powell was first a scientist and adventurer who enlisted in the Union Army in support of Lincoln's abolition of slavery. At the age of 27, he enlisted as a cartographer, topographer and military engineer. In the Battle of Shiloh, he lost an arm and was briefly hospitalized. However, he did return to the war, in which his bravery promoted him to major and finally, brevet lieutenant colonel. After serving in the Civil War, John Wesley Powell, decided on a personal adventure. Wallace Stegner writes, “Major John Wesley Powell's 1869 expedition down the canyons of the Green and Colorado rivers was the last great exploration within the continental United States, and an exploit of enormous importance in opening the West after the Civil War.”

Directly after the Civil War, Powell became a lecturer, which did not fully satisfy his adventurous spirit. According to his desire, he began to plan a trek intended to map previously undocumented regions of the West. He is memorable both for his military service, and also for, albeit unknowingly, giving the country a new direction post-war. Few people had the capability, planning skills and desire to pursue such a dangerous path. Yet, he successfully gathered a handful of scientists and veterans to navigate the difficult waterways.

After the Civil War, Powell set the goal of traveling into “the Great Unknown”, which includes portions of the Green and Colorado Rivers. The group of nine men traveled for months by small boats through the narrow, tall and dangerous canyon walls. They carried supplies, occasionally losing items to the river's wrath. Most of the men kept a journal or record which described both scenery and their mental anguish and frustration at all of the journey's unknowns. The trip took these men from Wyoming through parts of Colorado, Utah and Arizona. They traveled down uncharted rivers without any knowledge of what they might find or knowledge as to the trip's duration. While three men did not finish the voyage, Powell and the others emerged from the long, arduous canyon as the first ever to accomplish this feat.

Powell is a difficult figure to encapsulate. He studied and wrote about languages, cultures, geology, botany, and survival. Above all, he is most likely an adventurer; someone in whom curiosity peaks at nearly every turn. For this reason, his journals and notes are also hard to categorize since they span a wide variety of specialties. It is perhaps important for any such adventurer to have a wide lens when introducing the world to something new. The country embraced his journals and asked for more. The United States government then funded a second expedition. Additionally, he wrote a number of essays published in Scribner's because of the high public interest. Some of the originals can be viewed here. Also, find photos from his second expedition here.

In addition to Powell's survey of the Grand Canyon, he also traveled extensively in the southwestern desert in order to learn native cultures and ways of life. The Exploration of the Colorado River and Its Canyons dedicates a large quantity of space to native language and culture. He often asked natives about their mythology, structure, lifestyle and food. He attempted to discuss and categorize pueblo life versus the “more primitive” hunter/gatherer style of living. He also narrates a bit about family ties and the way that bloodlines might lead to powerful roles within a Native American community.

While a number of flaws and errors have been found in his journals and writings, his narrative stands the test of time. His adventurous spirit drove him from successful self-funded small trips, through the Civil War, into the Grand Canyon and then on to become director of the US Geological Survey, the Bureau of Ethnology and the Smithsonian Institution. Described as “stoical to a fault” and at times “autocratic”, he has the renown of having achieved all he set out to do.

Major Powell is only one example of the many heroic veterans who have served our country. In order to better understand his life and times, visit a Civil War memorial or the John Wesley Powell Museum. Spend the day researching other famous veterans, or say a quiet thanks to the many who did not leave the battlefields.

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Petrified National Forest

April 7, 2017

Thanks to Alissa Simon, HMU Tutor, for today's post.

“It is only by becoming sensible of our natural disadvantages that we shall be roused to exertion, and prompted to seek out opportunities of discovering the operations now in progress, such as do not present themselves readily to view.” - Charles Lyell

Charles Lyell first published the Principles of Geology in 1830. However, over the next thirty years, he continued to edit and revise his Principles until he published a final two-volume work in 1867-8. This work is a beautiful treatise on understanding changes that have affected and continue to affect the earth. In it, Lyell defines principles necessary for the scientific study of geology, while at the same time, he refutes common myths and stereotypes which previously inhibited the study of the earth. This gigantic work was written with the input of years of experience and conversation with other scientists, including his friend Charles Darwin.

On a recent stop in Petrified National Forest, I found some of Lyell's conversation repeating in my mind. Particularly, the idea that one can travel to a distant land without ever having left the earth, and without ever having left your home. In other words, Lyell's ability to see geologic structures as a mixture of age and processes enlivened the rocks about me as if a literal experience of time travel.

 Photo credit: Alissa Simon

Photo credit: Alissa Simon

The fact that trees of such height and width once existed in the seemingly barren terrain of Petrified Forest demands imagination. Instead of a desert, this land used to be filled with water, rivers, swamps and animals. When these mythic, large trees fell, they landed deep in the rivers and swamps and absorbed sediment which caused them to solidify. Merriam-Webster defines “petrified” as: “to convert (organic) matter into stone or a substance of stony hardness by the infiltration of water and the deposition of dissolved mineral matter.” In other words, the processes acting upon these trees literally changed their composition from wood to stone. They are massive, dense and heavy. They break by their own weight when the sediment supporting a portion of one log erodes. The log, then, fractures like a bone, sticking oddly and forlornly out of the earth. Their interior rings represent more than the age of the tree, but the age of the location, the age of the earth in which they lay and a colorful map of organic matter. This log which looks like a tree stump does not act like one. Instead, they are filled with spectacular colors of various sediments. Light reflects through them, and they no longer show signs of fibrous content. Upon investigation and imagination, one has literally traveled millions of years.

 Photo credit: Alissa Simon

Photo credit: Alissa Simon

The riverbeds in which they lay are now dry dustbeds, which receive violent, but sporadic rainfall. The desert here appears gray, blue, purple, pink and rusty. Somehow, plants eke out an existence. And where there are plants, there will be insects. Where there are insects, there will be lizards and birds. And with these follow larger predators. I imagine it is a very difficult life. But I also imagine that sunsets enliven these pronounced vistas with color unimaginable. And then, there are the fossils and ancient writings. Petrified National Forest offers a wide variety of interests for those wandering along Interstate 40. If nothing else, stop just to take in the views.

For more information, visit: .

Watch a short video about the park:

“The adoption of the same generic, and, in some cases, even the same specific names for the exuviae of fossil animals, and their living analogues, was an important step towards familiarizing the mind with the idea of the identity and unity of the system in distant eras. It was an acknowledgement, as it were, that a considerable part of the ancient memorials of nature were written in a living language. The growing importance then of the natural history of organic remains, and its general application to geology, may be pointed out as the characteristic feature of the progress of the science during the present century. This branch of knowledge has already become an instrument of great power in the discovery of truths in geology, and is continuing daily to unfold new data for grand and enlarged views respecting the former changes of the earth.” - Charles Lyell

“But if, instead of vague conjectures as to what might have been the state of the planet at the era of its creation, we fix our thoughts steadily on the connection at present between climate and the distribution of land and sea; and if we then consider what influence the former fluctuations in the physical geography of the earth must have had on superficial temperature, we may perhaps approximate to a true theory.” - Charles Lyell

“[T]he geologist is in danger of drawing a contrary inference, because he has the power of passing rapidly from the events of one period to those of another – of beholding, at one glance, the effects of causes which may have happened at intervals of time incalculably remote, and during which, nevertheless, no local circumstances may have occurred to mark that there is a great chasm in the chronological series of nature's archives.” - Charles Lyell

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