Read by Matilda Longbottom

Every year, I attend a big plant swap in a neighboring town hosted by a group of gardeners I affectionately call “The Ladies.” This dedicated group is known for their strong opinions, generosity, and their eco-conscious, anti-box-store plant stance. Their mantra—”Is it native? Organically grown?”—sometimes feels overwhelming, but I love gardening and free plants. I’m always on the lookout for perennials for the school garden I tend, my in-laws’ garden, friends’ gardens, and, of course, my own.

Plant swaps are typically wholesome, community-minded gatherings. The idea is simple: you bring a plant, you take a plant. Newcomers are even welcome to take plants without bringing any. Experienced gardeners eagerly offer advice, creating a buzz of excitement and camaraderie. “Try grouping irises with daylilies for months of blooms!” or “Watch out for the aggressive gooseneck loosestrife!” echoes through the air. It’s a delightful event, but for me, it’s also fraught with tension—from finding a parking spot to the fear of missing out on the best plants.

Last year, I was particularly stressed. The parking situation was dire, forcing me to park illegally with my hazards on. I hurriedly dropped off my plant donations—chives, hyssop, tall garden phlox, and Siberian iris—before grabbing some lamb’s ear and rushing back to the car. With my second empty box, I returned to more thoroughly browse.

Among my donations was a seedling I couldn’t identify, which I labeled “Mystery Plant.” As I was examining the shade plants section, I heard a woman exclaim, “Oh. My. God. Who brought this?” She waved my Mystery Plant in the air, declaring it a noxious weed. A crowd gathered as she identified it as bittersweet, pointing out its telltale red roots. The murmurs of the crowd grew into a chant, “Weed! Weed! Weed!” The scene turned hostile, with the plant and its pot discarded on the ground.

Mortified, I didn’t dare to claim the plant. I slunk back to my car, deeply embarrassed and rattled. I questioned whether the plant was actually bittersweet or possibly another invasive vine, but the humiliation was real. Couldn’t the woman have handled it more discreetly?

As I sat in my car, the chant “Weed! Weed!” still echoing in my mind, I reflected on how quickly a friendly gathering had turned ugly. Despite the ordeal, I was already looking forward to planting my new lamb’s ear. Maybe next year, I’d skip the Mystery Plant and stick to the basics. ❖

Author Biography: Joanna Gelband lives in the Boston area, tending as many garden patches as she can. With a long career in the labor movement, Joanna brings a unique perspective to her writing, blending her passion for gardening with her experiences in community organizing.