Jill Martindale Farrar
Bright fugitives escaped from ‘visit-worthy’ gardens appear along my fence line. Having fled from pruned hedgerows these exotic invaders wave at me as I trundle my trowel through the landscape. My garden profits from these interlopers: philodendron, fragrant fennel, native tamarind, the sought-after brush cherry. Not all of them weeds, but some are disapproved of by the plant police so, in their company, I feign despair as though the victim of freeloading guests who will not take the hint to quit. But a weed is only a plant in a place it’s not wanted, and some of this stock reminds me of my own tangled roots, battered foliage, slow drift toward entropy. In the evening, by the firelight I draw my notebook to me and make a start. I want to capture wild thoughts as well as flowers; weeds too invasive, disrespectful, and strong. I want my history to hold the rogue scent no one wants to own or admit to ⸺ collected here as record for generations to come.
Jill Martindale Farrar is a published poet and journalist, She divides her time between Sydney and the NSW South Coast
Old Water Rat Publishing 