The Chickweed of Those Days

The first plant I ever took an interest in was the chickweed (hakobera) I used to feed to the chickens I raised so carefully. Every morning it was my routine to go searching out chickweed blooming in the back alleys and to gather it. Child though I was, I would walk on and on in search of the color and shape of this plant the chickens seemed to find so delicious, and of the faint, grassy scent that drifted from it.

And now, here I am, seeking out plants and nature with a different sense of purpose.

When I happen to turn my eyes to the chickweed in an alley, it goes on living as sturdily as ever, in the very same form I saw as a child. Yet so many of the plants lined up at flower markets and flower shops have straight stems and leaves without any unevenness—they all look the same to me. Of course, in producing and shipping flowers there must be all sorts of problems and conditions, but might we not turn our attention to the charm of the forms and shapes that plants originally possess? Precisely because this is an age in which gathering wild plants has become so difficult, is it too much—speaking as one who arranges them—to wish for a change in what flower growing is to be from here on?