After a few days of good rain (thanks to everyone who read and followed my last week’s column, we did well), I decided to get out to the weed patch that used to be our garden and try to find some sprouts we planted about a month ago.
The dirt was nice and soft, with a decent amount of moisture inside, but not so muddy on the top level. So I put my gloves on, took my little spade and got to work.
The main problem we have in our garden is bindweed. I’m not sure if it’s a sign of particular soil disbalance (water we use for the garden is high in salt and lime, can it be the factor?), or we just brought a bunch of weed seeds when we tried to improve the dirt with manure. One way or the other, bindweed is taking over the entire vegetable pad we have.
So as I was slowly getting through our weed jungles and blisters were growing on my hands, I started thinking about the nature of this ambitious low-key and stubborn plant. And the more I was observing it, the more I believed that we have something to learn from it.
I don’t think that ever in my life I’ve seen the top of bindweed root. The plant holds on to it as far as it can (unlike thistle which breaks as soon as you try wiggling and pulling it out), but instead of risking its existence it breaks, leaving the end of the root deep in the soil. So in other words, it fights for what matters but only within reasonable limits.
Bindweed roots can go real deep (apparently they can be as deep as 20 feet below the surface). It can grow in any type of crappy soil and through any kind of crust. I used to have special black fabric covered with mulch in my flowerbed. You think it stopped bindweed? After the learning edge period, it managed to move fabrics apart and get through to see the sun and crawl on my flowers.
While pulling those brats out I also noticed that there is never a single plant in one spot. They always have at least two or three roots going into the dirt. And if you dig further you see tiny little plants getting ready to pop up as soon as you are done weeding and tend to believe that you are a winner in this game.
So I looked up the bindweed root system. The discovery was shocking. Vigorous root and rhizome system makes it almost impossible to control. One acre of land infested with bindweed may have up to five tonnes or 11,000 pounds of bindweed roots. That’s four Volkswagen New Beetles!
Bindweed is in no hurry. It can stay dormant in the soil for up to 60 years waiting for its time to shine. But as soon as it hits the surface, it opens up its big relatively wide leaves outcompeting my tiny shy tomatoes growing from seeds.
It knows no pride, it lays on the ground as if it was always kneeling with its face down and quickly moves around any obstacle, as a scared servant. But it definitely does not hesitate to use anything to get further out, climbing and holding onto other plants. It competes with other plants for sunlight, moisture and nutrients, and without humans’ protection, most plants become total losers when bindweed gets to them.
But pretending to apologize for its barefaced behaviour in people’s eyes bindweed ends up blooming with cute and gentle white or pinkish flowers. Despite everything I know about this monster, I still adore these little elegant trumpets. After all, bindweed belongs to the morning glory family and is actually pretty.
Unfortunately, the beauty is just another survival trick in this battle, as bindweed, when it takes over, becomes a huge money taker. It was estimated that total crop losses due to bindweed in the U.S. in one year were over $377 million (not sure how it was calculated, but what would a weed do with this kind of money?)
And the product of this beauty, the fruit, has two seeds (why risk it with one, right?) that birds can eat to help this invader take over the world.
So an hour later I found myself a few feet away from where I started, sitting in the garden and visualizing bindweed apocalypse. To shake off this scary picture I went to look at the rototiller in the garage. It looked like a scary-enough weapon. I know it won’t help me win, but it may give the plants some time to get a little bigger and muster up their strength for a new battle.
I still hope to one day figure out how to get rid of this evil tricky captor, but in the meanwhile, as Ovid said, we can learn from anyone even our enemies. Seems that bindweed knows everything about survival (metaphorically, of course) and if I will have to compete for survival one day, I'll definitely take its lesson.
