Weeds of Boise: Abandoned Pizza Hut on Ann Morrison Park Drive

There is an old Pizza Hut on the corner of Ann Morrison Park Drive and Lusk Street. I’m not sure how long it’s been closed (if someone knows for sure, please let me know), but it has to be well over a year – probably several years. It’s clear that the landscaping has not been maintained for a while. The turf grass in the hellstrips is now mostly weeds, the Callery pears and crabapples are in need of some serious pruning, and the mugo pines and horizontal junipers are slowly dying off. On the other hand, the Oregon grapes and barberries look just fine. They never really needed our help anyway.

I like checking out lots with recently abandoned buildings because you can see in real time just how quickly weeds take over once humans stop their meddling. As the months and years pass, and as the plants that humans intentionally placed there decline, it becomes increasingly obvious that weeds truly are the wild flora of our cities.

My first few visits to this site were on March 21st, 25th and 28th of 2020. During those visits, I made a list of all the weeds that I could easily identify and noted a few individuals that I will need to come back to. What follows are photos of a few of the weeds I came across, along with a list of the weeds I was able to identify.

Every lot needs a dandelion (Taraxacum officinale).

Common mallow (Malva neglecta) in mulch.

The turf grass in the hellstrips has been replaced by several different weeds including tiny, early spring favorites like bur buttercup (Ceratocephala testiculata) pictured here and spring draba (Draba verna).

Common groundsel (Senecio vulgaris) is prolific in a bed on the north side of the building. On the east side, this plant had already flowered and gone to seed by mid-March.

The tough taproot of alfalfa (Medicago sativa) easily works its way into cracks in pavement and concrete.

A bull thistle rosette (Cirsium vulgaris) perhaps?

Cheatgrass (Bromus tectorum) was common on the site, including (perhaps not surprisingly) in this parking block.

horseweed seedling (Conyza canadensis)

Weeds found at the abandoned Pizza Hut on Ann Morrison Park Drive:

  • Bromus tectorum (cheatgrass)
  • Ceratocephala testiculata (bur buttercup)
  • Cirsium vulgare (bull thistle)
  • Conyza canadensis (horseweed)
  • Draba verna (spring draba)
  • Hordeum murinum ssp. glaucum (smooth barley)
  • Lactuca serriola (prickly lettuce)
  • Malva neglecta (common mallow)
  • Medicago sativa (alfalfa)
  • Poa bulbosa (bulbous bluegrass)
  • Rumex crispus (curly dock)
  • Senecio vulgaris (common groundsel)
  • Taraxacum officinale (dandelion)
  • Ulmus pumila (Siberian elm)

This post will be updated as I identify more of the weeds and capture more photos. I also anticipate that this lot will not be abandoned for that much longer. It’s located near Boise State University in an area that has seen a lot of development in the past few years. I can’t imagine prime real estate like this will stay feral indefinitely. Until something is done with it, I’ll keep checking in.

Book Review: A Feast of Weeds

Since I am planning on eating more weeds, it seems appropriate that I review this book. Not to be confused with Feast of Weeds, a series of apocalyptic novels about a world-ending plague, A Feast of Weeds, by Luigi Ballerini is tangentially about foraging and cooking wild, edible plants. I say “tangentially” because it’s not like other foraging guides. This is a “literary guide,” as the subtitle states, so in the place of plant descriptions and harvesting tips, etc. are verbose and erudite essays summarizing the various literary references that each of the species profiled has accumulated from antiquity to the modern era. Apart from dozens of recipes, the information presented in this book is more entertaining than it is practical; however, when telling the stories of plants, the human element is an important facet – particularly in the stories of edible and medicinal plants – and it is the human element that this book is concerned with.

Ballerini is an Italian poet, a cooking historian, and a professor of Italian literature at UCLA. The 31 plant species he chose to profile can all be foraged in Italy (most of them in one specific region), and all except for maybe capers can be found somewhere in the United States. The majority of the plants in this book are commonly cultivated as crops, ornamentals, or landscape plants – few are truly weeds – but all of them can be found growing wild somewhere. And that’s one of Ballerini’s main points – wild food and the act of foraging is a very different experience from farmed food and the act of buying it at the grocery store. Take arugula for example:

Try making a salad with arugula that you have gathered yourself in a field and compare its taste with what you have made a hundred times with pre-washed and sterilized arugula bought at the supermarket or even at a farmers’ market. It’s easy to predict the comment that will immediately come to your lips: ‘There’s no comparison.’

A selection of recipes accompanies each of the plants that Ballerini writes about. These recipes were “invented or elaborated” by Ada De Santis, who lives on a farm in the “heel of Italy” and who “enthusiastically agreed to divulge the secrets of her kitchen.” Ballerini partnered with De Santis because of her Italian ancestry and her vast experience with both wild and cultivated plants.

Each chapter in the book follows the same basic format: a discussion of the myriad references a certain plant has received in various writings throughout human history, an overview of the (often bizarre) medicinal uses the plant has had throughout the centuries, and a brief statement on when to harvest the plant. References include plays, poems, songs, myths, fiction and non-fiction, religious and sacred texts, medicinal plant guides, and even artwork. Reading through the book, my interest and attention waned often, partly due to Ballerini’s way of writing and also due to my lack of familiarity (and lack of interest, frankly) with the references. But there were enough interesting bits here and there that made it worth the effort.

common mallow (Malva neglecta )

Of course, my interest was mainly held by the chapters about the weeds. Apparently, mallow (Malva spp.) has been written about prolifically, leading Ballerini to write, “the history of mallow is complex and contradictory, rich in illustrious testimony but, given its effects, not always very noble.” Like other plants in the book, the medicinal uses for mallow have been so numerous that it could be considered “a true cure-all,” if in fact it truly treated all the things it has been claimed to treat. On a humorous note, Ballerini writes in the chapter on wild fennel (Foeniculum vulgare), “we have come to understand … if a plant is good for you, it is good for nearly everything – but particularly for snakebite.”

Ballerini especially enjoys sharing odd medical claims, like in the chapter about sow thistle (Sonchus oleraceus), in which Nicholas Culpepper promoted some interesting uses for its juice. Purportedly, bringing it to a boil or “warming it in some bitter almond oil inside the skin of a pomegranate is a sure remedy for deafness and tinnitus.” The medicinal uses of wild chicory (Cichorium intybus) are “as old as the hills,” with a medical papyri from ancient Egypt (circa 1550 B.C.) referencing its medicinal uses among “magic formulas and spells for driving away evil-intentioned demons.”

sow thistle (Sonchus sp.)

A couple of paragraphs about dandelion (Taraxacum officinale) find their way into the chapter about wild chicory. The rosettes of these two plants look similar, and the roots of both, when “roasted and ground, can be used as a substitute for coffee.” Dandelion is also known to be a diuretic, and is thus referred to as pisciailetto in Italy, pissenlit in France, and piss-a-beds in England.

Speaking of the names of things, how things came to be called what they are is a topic that Ballerini addresses frequently throughout the book. However, such origins aren’t always clear. In the chapter on wild raspberries (Rubus idaeus), Ballerini reflects on the “general uncertainty regarding the origin of the English term raspberry.” Does it originate from the Old French word rasper, the Spanish word raspar, and the Italian word raspare, all of which mean to rasp or to scrape? Ballerini laments, “this introduces very unpleasant connotations for such a delicate fruit (yet there are those who, when faced with roses always think of thorns).”

While the bulk of this book is of little use to me – I guess I’m just not that interested in classic literature or mythology – it’s worth keeping around for the recipes alone, several of which I am anxious to try. If the idea of an unconventional field guide appeals to you, this book might be up your alley, just as it apparently was for this reviewer.

Additional Book Reviews on Awkward Botany: