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Keywords: Weeds

  • AUSTRALIA

    Wild and free: Living in an urban food forest

    • Andreana Reale
    • 21 March 2023
    1 Comment

    In a world where we rely on the market for our daily sustenance, have we forgotten about the edible plants growing in our own backyards? Despite the billions spent on herbicides to dispense with so-called weeds, these plants were once a vital part of our diets and have since been forgotten. 

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  • ENVIRONMENT

    The virtues of weeds

    • Catherine Marshall
    • 17 September 2020
    10 Comments

    The freesias are a delight, for they flower in random places on their knife-edge leaves in yellows and whites and mauves, their beauty absolving them from their dubious classification as weeds. They delight the eye, therefore they are forgiven. But why not the nightshade and the onion weed, with their delicate flowers? What makes a weed a weed, anyway?

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    15 Wisdom Street

    • John Ellison Davies
    • 17 June 2014
    5 Comments

    The woman next door is not talking to her husband. She rakes a garden argument, punishes leaves, brawls with flowers, frustrated by the strength of weeds, kneels on a stone and swears. Inside the house her husband smokes and reads the paper, turns each urgent page, amazed that he is not news. He wonders who writes true histories of pain, of hate. Newsprint stains his fingers like guilt.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    Adventures of a vegie amateur

    • Frank O'Shea
    • 05 April 2011
    2 Comments

    My favourite things to grow are rhubarb and broad beans because you can see those over the weeds. I go out to the garden and spit on my hands. You never see people on television gardening programs spit on their hands, which is a dead giveaway that they are picked solely for their good looks.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    Past the letterbox, to the cemetery

    • Susan Fealy and Jamie King-Holden
    • 06 July 2010
    1 Comment

    A cracked grey angel .. shadows a snatch of brown weeds .. in a Coke bottle. .. A marble stone reads: .. 'our loving son, died too young' .. he sleeps, snug in clay.

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