The first walk, mask in hand, comes after fifty days of almost uninterrupted seclusion. The bananas for shade on the sidewalk, which on March 12th took out the first leaves to cover their winter nakedness, welcome us dressed in a bright, intense green. I smile at them.
The urban park that lies between our house and the train tracks is flooded with people doing sports and / or walking dogs, so my partner and I meet knowing glances and go straight in the opposite direction, away from the crowds. Today I have gone out to see plants, not people: I want to check how much Palma de Mallorca has become feral during my forced absence and during the absence of the municipal employees who take care of cutting these plants every so often.
Standing out among the tiles of a sidewalk, the wild mallows ( Malva sylvestris ) are disheveled next to a parked car; the violet flowers contrast with the dark green of the sheet. Its leaves, in addition to being rich in mucilages that calm skin irritations (such as insect bites), are edible; However, seeing suspicious-looking patches on the floor, and so much walking dog ... I decide that it is better to leave the mauve soup for another day.
In recent years, more and more people and groups are claiming the recovery of these wild plants through various initiatives, such as the gastronomic days of "forgotten plants" that are held every year in Igualada (Barcelona). But, at the moment, they are small and artisan initiatives. And it is convenient, in addition to collecting with respect, to know the plants well before launching to prepare any recipe (or even cosmetics), because the fact that it is natural does not mean that it is harmless.
During the walk you breathe relief in the air, a contagious euphoric energy. And despite that, I can't deny that I'm a little disappointed. I had had illusions, I confess it. With so much photo and so much writing on Instagram about the resurgence of the collecting spirit of the people, a part of me half-secretly expected to see crowds crowded around ambushes, admiring with enthusiasm the spring blossomed. And not. In my neighborhood, at least, it seems that I am still the only one that pays attention to the green exuberance that has taken over all available cracks, and that has transformed tree pits into small forests.
The funny thing is that each of these miniature jungles houses a different plant community. We passed the tree-hole where the minor morning glories ( Convolvulus arvensis ) reign , whose delicate appearance is deceptive: their roots are so deep and difficult to pluck that the French said they were going to hell. Her pink-flowered sister ( Convolvulus althaeoides ), on the other hand, climbs the rusty railings of a nearby wasteland, spilling like a spring tide down the sidewalks.
A little further on is the tree pits of chicory that wanted to be a bush, where the sky-blue flower-sprinkled stems of Cichorium intybus have grown so much that they reach my waist. In supermarkets they sell their roasted roots as "substitutes" for coffee; its tender leaves, collected before the plant gleams, have been widely consumed as a vegetable (so much so, in fact, that we have domesticated them, turning them into pale endives, or reddish radicchio ...).
Then there are the tree pits dominated by wild fennel ( Foeniculum vulgare ), with leaves so divided that they look like green lace feathers - very aromatic feathers, by the way. It is not uncommon that they are used to dress dishes such as fried Mallorcan, or that they are macerated in alcohol to obtain various liqueurs, with digestive properties (and not to mention the seeds, or their "bulbs"!).
I barely contain my emotion when I see that one of these fennel islands has one of the most appreciated wild plants in Spain: the collejas ( Silene vulgaris ). The flowers are long gone, but the globose chalices sway in the morning breeze, as if inviting the child who lives within us to take one and make it explode between his fingers. People pass by without paying the slightest attention to them. No one seems to see them.
In the late 1990s, botanists James H. Wandersee and Elisabeth Schussler coined the term plant blindness to designate the growing ignorance and lack of appreciation of the plant world by the young population. In recent years, some guerrilla tactics have emerged in response to this green blindness. For example, in France, an initiative to chalk street names of street plants (which have become more numerous since the French Republic banned the use of pesticides in public settings three years ago) became popular. This tactic has spread to other European cities, as this story in the British newspaper The Guardian tells .
We have a habit of describing these street plants as "weeds", although perhaps we should change "bad" for "rebels who are determined to grow where they want instead of abiding by human desires". If we sow them and remain quiet and obedient, then they are good; If they are sown alone and demonstrate complete independence from us, then they are bad. Although they can improve the urban environment, beautify it, make it more livable for pollinators, etc., if they are unsubmissive, they are bad by definition. And I wonder, shouldn't we change this definition ...?
The bridge walls and streets along the train tracks are covered in brightly colored graffiti, providing a spectacular backdrop for these urban jungle rebels. There grow border oats ( Avena sterilis ), and wild carrots ( Daucus carota ) from umbels made of white filigree; there are some hanging with the twisted stem, a sign that someone was dazzled by its beauty and tried to take a few home ... not knowing that the wild carrot does not give in easily to hand jerks. The cleanest way to persuade her to come with you is with a pair of scissors (or, if she catches you off guard, you can saw the stem with a wrench).
As I portray rebellious locks that seem to pose for the camera, gnawing withers, tickles with stems dotted with inverted hearts, vibrant violet corolla vibrators ... I realize I'm not sure which agencies are designing the flora management policies urban rebel and decide on the fate of these green citizens.
Upon returning home, I contacted the Infrastructure Councilor of the Palma City Council, and confirmed that the management of parks and tree grates is a local responsibility. He tells me that herbicides and non-organic products are not used; the removal of herbs is done "through tools and by hand ... at the level of tree pits, and at the level of sidewalks, the same".
However, the law says that municipalities can use herbicides with impunity without accountability to anyone ... but perhaps they should be accountable to humans and nonhumans living under their jurisdiction. No one disputes the need to manage urban flora; free the sidewalks of potential obstacles to avoid tripping, keep sewage and water evacuation systems clean of grass so that they can fulfill their function ... They are fair and necessary tasks for the city to function better.
However, it is also fair to prevent the city from becoming a desert of biodiversity, it is fair to share the space with other living things that contribute to the common good and it is fair to breathe clean air.
And the plants that overflow those tree pits, that give oxygen to the world without causing harm to anyone, are not anonymous rebels without profession or benefit. They have names and stories to tell — of resilience, adaptation, improvement. Some are so beautiful that you would want them painted on the facade of your building, as portrayed by the artist Mona Caron, a great defender of these "weeds".
Knowing them may not always mean loving them, but recognizing them worthy of admiration and respect, if only because they are the only ones who volunteer, without being forced to live between exhaust pipes, to clean the air we breathe.
On the bridge near home is a graffiti of a baby who appears to be crawling on the sidewalk; He's wearing a gas mask. A few meters further, a row of locks and oats sprouts, which take root in the joints between the curb and the asphalt. I smile behind the mask; for the next ride i will get a chalk.
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What plants have you come across on your urban walks? Send us your photos and Aina S. Erice will help us identify them. You have until Friday, May 22.
Botanical disseminator Aina S. Erice has told us about the "rebellious" plants that have sprouted in our cities during confinement. Have you seen them too? Answer us with a photo of them and Aina will be in charge of identifying them https://t.co/NgKAc9vyLZ pic.twitter.com/0ENARP99cQ
- verne (@verne) May 19, 2020Aina S. Erice is a writer, biologist, and author of The Book of Forgotten Plants .
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