'What Form So Much Thought Unfolds'

Weeds I can’t name crowd the front garden, adding to the lushness of our greenery. In Houston, if you’re not picky, gardens grow themselves, without our assistance. Windborne seeds take care of the job. Of course, most of us are botanical snobs, imposing a hard Manichean judgment on plants: flowers, good; weeds, bad. Chesterton loved weeds. In the final chapter of his Autobiography he writes: “[W]hat I said about the dandelion is exactly what I should say about the sunflower or the sun, or the glory which (as the poet said) is brighter than the sun. The only way to enjoy even a weed is to feel unworthy even of a weed.” I wouldn’t go that far but I get it. The center of our garden we’ve conceded to the weeds. Maryann Corbett tells us the Venerable Bede noted that the ancient Anglo-Saxons gave August the name weodmonath, “month of weeds,” which makes perfect sense. Corbett includes a photo of a monarch caterpillar on a milkweed leaf, their favored food source. At the center of our weed…