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This last month, with our intermittent rain, sunshine, rain, sunshine, I have watched the flowers and trees in our garden almost double in size.

Things that were just thinking about getting started suddenly are spread out over large areas. Clumps of perennials that had trouble filling up their 6-inch pots now are robust creatures with 24-inch spans. And while I am awed and delighted with this planned and planted spectacle, it is the weeds that have caught my attention lately.

I have always been a bit of a fan of some weeds, and as long as they behave in a somewhat civilized manner, I am willing to give them their day in the sunshine.

My love for weeds was an affection that was instilled in me at an early age. Although my mother was an avid gardener, loved her flowers and shrubs and had no aversion to ruthlessly pulling out anything that dared tread where it wasn’t invited, there were a few that had a permanent pass in our yard.

At the top of the list were what she called “lawn daisies.” Mom loved these little fellows, and no one was allowed to disturb them.

I have clear memories of her even instructing the teenage neighbor boy that helped her in the yard to dig up and transplant a few of them into other more pristine parts of the grass. Consequently, I grew up with the image of the perfect lawn having these lovely swathes of white, looking like someone had cast snowflakes on a green carpet.

I have to say, I share my Mom’s affection for these little guys. Unfortunately, with the easy accessibility of “spray and die” chemicals, they are not as common in my neighborhood as I remember them in my childhood, so it was with great delight that I saw the “meadow” of them spring up overnight along the parking strip on my street. Obviously, considering the amount of them, someone else must share this affection.

The annual three-week driving vacation with my parents and two sisters always involved stopping anytime we saw a field of wildflowers or interesting grasses. Dad would help us identify the wild lupin, Indian paintbrush and other natural flora he remembered from growing up in the Northwest. Often, we would be allowed to pick enough wild daisies to make daisy chains, which we would drape on an unsuspecting small tree, decorating it with our flower garlands and other wild flora.

At loose ends, we have an absolutely beautiful clump of fireweed (another of Dad’s favorites) sitting in the middle of a sea of tall annual grasses. Their brilliant fuchsia-red color makes a shocking contrast to the pale green/gold color of the grasses. When the wind blows, the taller fireweed does a mean Salsa against its plainer partner’s gentle swaying in the breeze.

Even that most common, and probably most maligned weed, the dandelion has its moments. Until it reaches that nasty stage where it insists on casting its thousands of progeny to the winds, it also can be a welcome guest, within certain limits. We have an old greenhouse, one sadly in need of repair. Except for the occasional mowing, this area is pretty much left to its own devices, consequently it is a favorite breeding spot for these guys. Although our gardener thinks my husband, Art, and I are nuts, we won’t let him clean up this area. The dandelions do their thing, and for a few weeks, it is delightful to see their yellow heads on tall, twisted stems running rampant around the old structure.

This year, we have two thistle plants that appeared. They are a different variety than I have ever seen on the property and must have been brought in by some helpful bird. They were little things just two weeks ago, and since they are in a place on the grounds that I don’t work in too often, I really hadn’t been paying any attention to them. Well, I saw them this last weekend, and they are now more than 6 feet tall with multiple arms! Of course the first impulse is to cut them down, but on a second look, they are so dramatic and just starting to bud out with their bright purple bloom that the vote is to let them stay, and flower, then maybe we’ll dry the heads.

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So, I am willing to give some weeds a chance. I readily admit, however, that this is not always successful. I have spent much time trying to eradicate something I thought looked interesting when it first appeared between the stepping stones on our path two years ago. It was tiny, hugged the ground and had pretty little yellow flowers … for a while. However, it soon became clear that it had no intention of staying cute and quickly began to get tall, leggy, obnoxious and vigorous. After two seasons of trying to keep it dug out, I can add tenacious to that description.

Well, you can’t win them all, and I think, in the long run, the good guys outweigh the bad, so, if you have lawn daisies, my advise is to count yourself lucky — those big expanses of unrelieved green need a bit of contrast! July 8, 2005