Weeds of Boise: Ahavath Beth Israel Synagogue Garden

Anyone who has maintained a garden or small farm knows that with all the work it takes to keep up on the garden itself, outlying areas can quickly become overtaken by weeds. Low on the list of priorities, areas outside of our garden borders are ideal locations for wild urban vegetation to thrive. Pulling all the weeds within the garden is a big enough task as it is; thus, weeds out of our reach are left to their own devices, occasionally getting mown down by a string trimmer or brush mower (if time allows), but otherwise living largely unscathed. And so, places such as these are excellent for familiarizing oneself with our wild urban flora.

I found an example of this scenario at the Ahavath Beth Israel Synagogue Garden in Boise, Idaho. This community garden is a partnership between Congregation Ahavath Beth Israel (CABI) and Global Gardens, providing refugees in the area an opportunity to grow food for their families and participate in community activities.

When I visited this site, it was clear that the weeds on the edge of the garden had been mowed down at some point. New plants had popped up after the fact while others were in the process of recovering from the “haircut” and putting on new, shrubbier growth. The mowing and the fact that it was late in the summer made identifying remnants of earlier weeds too difficult to bother. Most of the weeds that I did find were either summer annuals or perennials. A visit in the spring would reveal an entirely different cast of characters.

I stayed on the border of the garden, not wanting to invade anyone’s plot or snoop around too much. The point of the visit was to highlight weeds found outside of the borders of a garden anyway. I would imagine that, since the garden is used to grow annual fruits and vegetables, most of the weeds in the beds would be annuals as well. Longer-lived weeds don’t generally tolerate regular disturbance and instead find refuge in unkept areas outside of cultivation.

Below are a few photos from the site along with a preliminary list of the weeds that I found.

salsify (Tragopogon dubius)

puncture vine (Tribulus terrestris)

field bindweed (Convolvulus arvensis)

Siberian elm (Ulmus pumila)

common mallow (Malva neglecta)

black medic (Medicago lupulina)

Weeds found at the Ahavath Beth Israel Synagogue Garden:

  • Amaranthus spp. (pigweed)
  • Bassia scoparia (kochia)
  • Chenopodium album (lamb’s quarters)
  • Chondrilla juncea (rush skeletonweed)
  • Convolvulus arvensis (field bindweed)
  • Conyza canadensis (horseweed)
  • Digitaria sanguinalis (crabgrass)
  • Epilobium brachycarpum (tall annual willowherb)
  • Euphorbia maculata (spotted spurge)
  • Hordeum jubatum (foxtail barley)
  • Lactuca serriola (prickly lettuce)
  • Malva neglecta (common mallow)
  • Medicago lupulina (black medic)
  • Oenothera biennis (common evening-primrose)
  • Plantago lanceolata (narrowleaf plantain)
  • Polygonum aviculare (prostrate knotweed)
  • Rumex crispus (curly dock)
  • Setaria sp. (foxtail)
  • Sonchus sp. (sow thistle)
  • Taraxacum officinale (dandelion)
  • Tragopogon dubius (salsify)
  • Trifolium pratense (red clover)
  • Ulmus pumila (Siberian elm)
  • Verbena bracteata (prostrate vervain)

Like all posts in the Weeds of Boise series, this will be updated as I identify and photograph more of the weeds found in this location.

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: