I like the simplest definition of a weed: a plant you don’t want growing where it grows.

My wife, Merri, is not only a great gardener, she is also a great weeder. I lack the energy. I think, hell, if it made it there, give it a chance. Almost anything is preferable to the zero-scape of gravel.

So, perhaps I’m the only person in Albuquerque who enjoyed the lush mustard growth brought on by extra rain (some call it London Rocket, a very odd name). I thought it was quite pretty.

Sure, I understand there are genuinely noxious plants, like the beautiful-until-it’s-too-late foxtail, the goatheads, and the water-sucking tamarisk. I understand the “exotics,” the imports, can completely overrun the natives, but we do that ourselves as people — who are we to judge the weeds. Ripping out what grows naturally seems futile. Try leaving something alone now and then. mjh