The Rural Voice, 2006-08, Page 44OF WEEDS AND SUNBONNETS
Remembering when a little girl could feel part of the family farming
operation
By Barbara Weiler
Weeds
are an ongoing
problem for every farmer.
A field yellow with the
wild mustard flower may be a
beautiful sight to the traveler along
country roads, but not so to the
farmer, not for aesthetic reasons, but
because the weed is quick to spread
and take possession of a field,
choking out the crop and soon
disseminating to another of the
farmer's fields or that of a neighbour.
In the 1940s and '50s, herbicides
were used, but still the weeds
would spring up, and my
father kept a sharp eye out
for the most invasive ones,
pulling them by hand so
that at least they would not
ripen and broadcast their
progeny over the field to
appear the next spring. The
war on weeds is a constant
one, like picking off the
stones, a never-ending
task. Fields over run with
weeds are the sign of a
lazy farmer, and do not
make for popularity with
neighbours. '
As a result, we learned
identify some weeds at a young age
and pull them out if we were able —
wild mustard, Bladder Campion,
Queen Ann's Lace. The prickly sow
thistle was too much for us to pull by
hand and needed a hoe to root it out.
Respect for my father's wisdom
has grown as I have done some
research in order to write this article.
Wild mustard, an annual, can
represent a serious weed problem in
canola and spring cereals. Seeds
compete effectively with crop plants
for light, water and nutrients. Left
uncontrolled throughout the growing
L season, it can reduce potential yield
and seed quality of the harvested
crop. As for Bladder Campion, it is
described as a deep-rooted, invasive
40 THE RURAL VOICE
perennial that is hard to control
because it is resistant to many
herbicides.
One particular weed -pulling
expedition remains in my memory.
My older brother and sister had been
assigned to some more difficult task,
one that at five or six, I was unable to
do. Dad showed me the yellow
mustard clusters and the pale green
balloons of Bladder Campion, told
m e
wear it. I wandered up and down the
field, careful not to flatten the grain,
looking for offending weeds. I braced
my feet to pull out reluctant plants,
trying to get that pesky Bladder
Campion root out. Little rivulets of
sweat ran down my neck under the
bonnet in the merciless heat and my
gloveless hands grew sore. I thought
then that I would stop to rest awhile.
I threw myself down in the tall
sheltering grass at the side of the
wheat field. It was cooler there,
the long grass offering some
protection from the sun. I
pulled off the pink print bonnet
and lay down with it under
my head, intending to take
only a few minutes to rest.
The ground was rough
and prickly, but the
grass was cool near the
roots as I lay my cheek
against it. I closed my
eyes, just for a moment
When I awoke
later, disoriented, I did
not know how long I had
slept, but the sun was
much lower in the sky. My
cherished sunbonnet was
gone, dislodged and blown
away while I slumbered. I
searched for it a long time,
wandering around the field, still
careful not to trample the grain with
my small feet.
When I finally trudged
home to mother, there were
tears washing paths down
my very dirty face.
The sunbonnet I had
cherished was gone, and I
knew it was my own fault. I hoped
that someone would find it in the
days that followed, but no one ever
did. The hat was gone, but the
sunshine of that summer day and the
coolness of the long grass live on in
memory.0
t o
look for
them in the field of
young grain. I was proud to play a
part, pleased that Dad had asked
me to do something special.
Years later many would
condemn this, suggesting that I
was too young to help with farm
work. "Child labour", some might
say, but I thought of it as my
contribution to our family farm.
It was a hot sunny day. I wore a
pink flowered sun bonnet, purchased
at the village store, to protect my face
from burning rays and I loved to