What’s lurking in the weeds? 

They’re defined at times by not belonging. They weren’t part of any plan. Their colors, shapes or botanical family lines aren’t the issue: It just wasn’t anybody’s idea that they would grow where they did. That’s what makes them weeds. Good things can lurk near them, like the feisty largemouth bass who exploded on my hula popper when I was a kid casting in Lake Kawaguesaga’s weed bed. The fish took my lure, dove and tried to swim off with it into the reeds but I kept reeling. I didn’t see him until I finally netted him, still on the line, lifted him out of the water, and set him on the floor of the small boat we had rented along with our cabin. I rowed triumphantly back to our little pier, yelling, “I got a big one!” Dad and Mom came running down the hill. “He’s a real bruiser,” said Dad. And that’s what I called him: “Bruiser.” I cleaned, and Mom cooked, Bruiser for a delicious family dinner that night. Agricultural rotations can determine whether a plant is a weed. When an isolated corn plant grows in a field dedicated currently to soybeans, it’s a weed, isn’t it? A couple seasons before, when corn had been the seeded crop in that same space, each corn plant was embraced as a legitimate part of the harvest. In addition to grating on us because they’re out of place, weeds can symbolize burden. When one says, “I’m really in the weeds today,” it can mean that one is buried in work, maybe falling behind, struggling to keep up. Think of a chef in a restaurant kitchen, swamped with orders and only so many burners, ovens and cooks to meet demand. Weeds can represent failure or bad intent. In Matthew 13, Jesus’ parable speaks of an enemy of a good farmer who sowed weeds among the farmer’s wheat. Jesus’ advice was to let the weeds and wheat grow together to avoid pulling up both, but to then separate the weeds and burn them after the harvest. Some weeds have their defenders. Dandelions are celebrated for the nectar they provide for bees during the spring. Their taproots aerate the soil. Stop pulling them: get used to the color they add to the grass and gardens, their advocates say. My niece Katie’s children’s book, Merpig , gives weeds a positive place in a story. Marlon, the main character, is used to being in the spotlight in his underwater school. He likes performing in front of others. He thinks highly of himself. But for the next school play, his teacher jolts his ego by casting him as the seaweed. Marlon is angry. However, in rehearsals — and later when the kids finally perform their show in front of their parents — Marlon finds ways to inspire the young actors from the margins. He can make them better because he is the weeds. From the watery shadows of the stage in this fantasy mer-community, he helps the show succeed. There have been times when I have felt out of place, like a weed. How did I end up in this meeting? How did I end up serving on this board? Or as a teen in a summer job: what am I doing cleaning this fish market at Jewel? When I was in that boat on my own, casting in the Wisconsin lake’s weed bed, I was a kid from a Chicago-area neighborhood where the only fish I ever saw routinely were the goldfish or angelfish swimming in my friends’ bowls and tanks. But then Bruiser swallowed my lure, and I knew I belonged. Rich Kordesh is a longtime Oak Park resident who loves fishing. Related Join the discussion on social media! Facebook Instagram X