Yet It Is Alive

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In this deeply reflective stage of life — especially after my journey of walking back into well-being in nature — how I view the world has shifted by many degrees. This was brought into perspective this past weekend while walking the land with others around water conservation and stewardship.

There was a moment when I was about to photograph a thistle, large and soft pink against a light blue, hazy sky. Next to it stood a smaller thistle, the native Texas Thistle (Cirsium texanum), and I smiled to myself — but I wanted the big one, blowing in the wind, with water captured in a swale peeking behind it. I was startled just as I was about to capture it by someone leaning in suddenly and saying, "You don't want that thistle for your picture — you want the native one over here. This one!"

I held back my thoughts and kept quiet. But what I wanted to say was this:

Yet it is alive.

It is here, bringing wonder to me. Yes, it may not be native to Texas — but I am breathing it as it is breathing me. It added value, joy. It was also on land under stewardship, where the owners are very aware of natives and non-natives alike. For the moment, it holds its place — a placeholder with real ecological value, attracting pollinators and, with the work of swales holding water nearby, helping the soil. And there it was, alongside the native thistle, happily bobbing in the wind together.

Let's step back now . . .shift the kaleidoscope and let the pattern move a little.

Even the Texas Thistle, a member of the sunflower family and a powerhouse energy source for pollinators, is regarded as a weed by many who do not work with, adore, or understand native plants. It will get weed-whacked, or worse — sprayed with some kind of biological warfare. Many don't see the beauty in that long stem with its burst of flower. It has the look of a weed, it has been called a weed, and so it is a weed — remove it.

I am not advocating for the non-native thistle. It is aggressive and competes with native plants. What I am advocating for is two things.

First — holding wonder for something that is living. That exists in this moment. That delighted me. Those two thistles side by side, swaying in a dance together, brought me pure joy.

And second — for those beginning to take stewardship of their land, really paying attention to what is beneficial and what is needed. In this time of decline in our insects, and thus our birds, and thus the whole kaleidoscope — not just a fraction of it — plants once called weeds are now understood to be deeply necessary for all.

small acts, wild impact pathways ~ Christina