Common burdock still alive.

War does not determine who is right – only who is left.

-Bertrand Russell

It’s late summer now and the hottest of the dog days have passed for the year.  The kinds of plants I see this year are somewhat different than last year.  There is no blanket of moss and liver wort next to the trail, the Japanese clover is not easy to find and the Japanese knotweed doesn’t seem to be as tall or as prolific.  But many of the other plants are unchanged.  The leaves on the oaks, black walnuts and maples are still green and the sides of our rail-trail are still densely overgrown with weeds.

Now, I don’t have any problem with weeds.  They’re a part of nature and have at least as much right to be out here as I do.  I suppose the Japanese knotweed and the orange jewelweed, for example, even though they’re invasive species, have their place in the local ecology and their presence needs to be respected.  There is one weed, though, that I take exception to: the common burdock.

Common burdock is a plant that stands about 3 feet tall.  Its stems, roots and leaves can be eaten.  Called “gobo” in Japanese, it can be added to stews, stir-fried and pickled.  For centuries, it has been used medicinally to treat eczema, acne and psoriasis.  It has been used as an anti-inflammatory, to aid digestion and in weight management.  I have no idea how effective any of that is, but, supposedly, there is research that says it’s not all bunk.  In North America, burdock is mostly seen as a nuisance plant and I wholly subscribe to that.

There’s not a lot of it along our trail; it appears in only about seven places along our 6 mile route.  But where it does appear, like most of the weeds that grow there, it’s right next to the trail where it can get direct sunlight not blocked by the taller trees.  Most of the year, this is not a problem.  But in late summer to early fall, the plant forms these jawbreaker-sized spikey spheres that stick like super glue to whatever touches them.  These things grow in clumps at the end of the plant’s stems, protruding out toward the tarmac.  For me, that’s no big deal, I usually stick to the blacktop and don’t get near them.  But Waldo?  That’s a different story.

For reasons I don’t at all understand, Waldo likes to walk underneath the overhanging weeds as he saunters on his way, sometimes almost disappearing under their leaves.  He lifts his leg in there and even squats in the bushes, where I have to bushwhack to pick up what he leaves behind.  I can live with all that, but if he gets anywhere near a burdock plant, their damn burrs stick in his long hair and are really hard to get out.  Clumps of four or more of the damned things cling to him in as many different places.  Behind his ears, on his back, in his tail and on his chest, they intimately cling to him like leeches.  Worse than leeches.  They wad up his fur into tangled mats that I have to pull apart in order to get them out and it hurts him.  He puts up with my ridding him of his scourge, but he lets me know he doesn’t like his hair being pulled like that.

Since there are only a small number of places where the plant grows, you might think I can just guide him away from them and avoid the whole problem.  But I’m not watching him every second.  He’s off doing his Waldo thing while my mind is, often, in a different universe, learning French or something.  Invariably, day after day, he picks the damn things up and we go to battle.  So, I declared war on the burdock – the burr wars have begun.

I have no interest in eradicating the entire species.  Like the other weeds, they probably have their place in the world.  Those that grow far enough away that Waldo doesn’t touch them, I let them be.  But in the seven or so places where they grow right next to the trail, well, they’re coming up by the roots.  I put a two-fisted death grip on their stems and lean back with all my weight.  With only one exception, the plant comes up, root and all.  The one exception broke down near the ground and I left the remnant be.  I then throw the plants as far away from the trail as I can and make sure they are laying parallel to the ground where they can’t reach out and touch someone.  I end up wearing a few of the burrs on my shirt and pants in the process, but compared to what happens to Waldo, they are easily removed.

I suppose I’ll have to deal with those same plants next year.  Even if they don’t resprout from whatever roots are left behind, the burrs are still there, providing seeds for next years crop.  But for the rest of this year, I’m not going to have to torture my dog to get them out of his fur.

You don’t mess with my Waldo.

Common burdock, fallen but not neutered.