A couple of years ago, I found a weed growing in the horse paddock. For some reason or another—simple laziness, or a terminal case of procrastination, or possibly some sort of minimally hostile curiosity—I refrained from plucking it up out of the ground or giving it a good soaking of 2,4-D. Eventually, its buds opened into flowers and I was right glad I’d left it alone.

Its blooms of bright yellow petals with purple centers were rather lovely. After I posted a picture online, one of my Facebook friends identified it as “moth mullein.” I was a bit disappointed that none ever sprouted and bloomed in the paddock last year. This year, my good fortune has returned: two plants have grown up in different places in the paddock.

A wee bit of online research this morning indicates that moth mullein is either the eighth sign of the Apocalypse, a portender of the Great Satan and omen of ruinous invasion OR it is a benefactor of hummingbirds, honeybees, and other pollinators and would make a lovely addition to anyone’s collection of floral delights.

It reminds me of my high school Ag teacher, Jamie Potts, and his definition of a weed. “A weed,” Mr. Potts declared in my sophomore Ag class, “is any plant growing where it’s not wanted.” Corn growing in a soybean field becomes a weed. Soybeans sprouting up in a corn field. Giant pigweed growing anywhere, I’d reckon. By some sort of logical inference, extension, and inversion, I subsequently concluded, “If you didn’t have to plant it, it has a pretty bloom, and you like where it is, then it is a wildflower.”

Therefore, friends and neighbors, until sufficient aggravation and displacement of timothy, orchard grass, bluegrass, and other forage, I deem moth mullein a wildflower on our particular plot in Blair, Kansas. Notwithstanding that Nebraska and Colorado may have declared it an invasive species, it is hereby denoted a protected species here at Haven Hill.

Considering the potential differences of opinion this might precipitate reminds me of something else. That old adage about “blooming where you grow.” I think it ought to include a disclaimer: some places are better for growing than others. Trying to bloom where people are constantly attacking you with garden implements and poisons might not be your best option. While I fervently believe “God can use you anywhere,” even the apostle Paul would seek life elsewhere from time to time when folks sought to rather quickly change him from missionary to martyr. And God used him no matter where he went.

Being able to sort of play God with my moth mullein, I have already relocated one of the aforementioned specimens into a section of planter space up by the house that has proven heretofore to be rather inhospitable to desired domestic species.

Perhaps in a couple more years, I’ll have enough blooms for a moth mullein bouquet. Or, maybe, I’ll just have a few more dead weeds…