Some of the first plants I could identify were the weeds on our farm like broom, gorse and the common white yarrow that lined the long driveway each summer.

I learned the difference between a Scotch and nodding thistle early on, with the latter being my parents’ dedicated target for eradication every year.

What I hadn’t really clocked though was that weeds were of course just like any other flowering plants, sub-species falling into the categories of annual and perennial – terms more common at the garden centre than way out in the back paddock. Weedy rebels were just a whole lot more enthusiastic than their more refined cousins.

Last year, I fell into the book Wild about Weeds: Garden Design with Rebel Plants by UK landscape designer Jack Wallington. It proved to be a real eye-opener. A weird side-effect of learning about plants for my own garden was now I saw ALL plants everywhere and this book provided an opening for more learning. I was interested to see that so many of the plants he profiled as “weeds” in the UK, were here, living as weeds too.

Roadside red clover in North Canterbury, New Zealand

“Essentially ,a weed can be defined as a “plant growing in the wrong place”. In my extensive trawling for information about my local finds, I was well reminded too that weeds can be invasive plants that threaten environments and compete with native species.”

It’s strange to understand that our annoying weeds are of course native to other lands where they live in self-controlled and welcome existence. Unfortunately, our climate is so appealing to many of them that, on introduction, they lost the plot and aimed for nationwide domination, finding themselves landing on our noxious list and providing many a full-time job for those charged with killing them. A particularly noble endeavour for those trying to unchoke our riverbeds from broom and rid hillsides from wilding pines.

This book fed my hunger for plant identification in a new way, giving road trips and street wanders a different focus in challenging myself to name the colour that flashed by. Plants I can’t identify I then investigate, getting lost in the Massey University weeds database (I highly recommend!) and slowly adding to my understanding of the rogues that grow wild, welcome or not.

On the sliding scale of “noxious to wild”, many are not as problematic, just potentially out of place, escaping the bounds of their intended plot. I find it interesting to note their hardiness when compared to the endless failures of plants I have in my own garden, despite all the loving care they get. Wild plants tend to be experts at self-seeding, deep root systems and long flowering periods, all helpful for survival against all odds!

Bike loaded up from foraging my local residential red zone in Christchurch

In my research, I have been fascinated to find some lapses in common identification. A great example of this is the commonly referred to “blue borage” that waves from stony roadsides around the country. This is in fact called viper’s bugloss and is a spiky cousin of the herb; blue borage that many choose to grow with intention.

Another rabbit hole I fell down was the identification of “cat’s ear”. A happy yellow flowering plant that I would almost certainly have just thought was a dandelion. Dandelions have just the single flower atop a stem, whereas the other has branched stems with multiple flowers. After much leaf comparing, I also discovered that aside from cat’s ear, there is also hawksbeard and hawksbit in the family and at home throughout the country.

On an eager foraging mission a few years ago, I collected great arms of what I thought was Queen Anne’s lace from a rural roadside, only to get an urgent message from a friend when spotting it on Instagram asking if it was hemlock. This was a lucky save, as I had never thought to note the difference! I got lucky that time as hemlock is particularly toxic and not something to be dragged into the house for decoration. It is identified by the distinct purple blotches on its smooth stems, while Queen Anne’s lace is green and hairy. Queen Anne’s lace also has a single dark purple flower in the centre of its flat topped bloom, while hemlock doesn’t and its umbellifer flower heads are more rounded.

What I assumed were Ox-eye daisies in the gravel pathway by the Avon River was actually stinking mayweed, only obviously different to me from its twin; scentless chamomile after much sniffing! There is also a stand of pale blue chicory I visit on my bike rides and I noted that it, and the lush streams of red clover about the place were actually a common agricultural crop. Red clover also being a respected cover crop for farmers and gardeners with its ability to fix nitrogen and protect soil.

On my bike cruising of the river loop I found common yarrow weaving through the long grass, at one point a pink toned patch of it. Sweet smelling and tall reaching bushes of buddleia were dotted around too, as were impressive looking stands of purple loosestrife at the rivers edge. Knowing the determination of its garden cousin, it no doubt wouldn’t be easy to get rid of in the wild.

Wild broad leaved sweet pea in North Canterbury

On a drive into North Canterbury, I marveled at the beauty (and someone’s obvious annoyance) of the sea of tall pink mallow in a sales yard and later sidled my car off the road in streaming holiday traffic to cut vines of the perennial, wild broad-leaved sweet pea. Honestly, that is one beautiful plant!

On our trip south from Canterbury to Otago, the roadside was dotted with the spikes of biennial woolly and moth mullein with their distinctive yellow flowers, similar in form to the garden varieties of verbascum. These weedy species eagerly pop-up following ground being disturbed.

Moth mullein in foreground with woolly mullein in background

Lupins, foxgloves and yarrow (achillea) are great examples of rebel plants with a foot in both camps. The hardy varieties love nothing more than some thankless bony ground, providing a show in summer, but with problematic, invasive spread. In turn, their refined cousins are purchased for good money at the garden centre and revered as flowering centerpieces in gardens.

So next time you are out for a walk or drive, take a second-look at the flashes of colour catching your eye. These are foreign rebels with names, sometimes with brilliant uses, but most often up to no-good. If you feel the need for a quick forage, just be diligent in what you collect. Ideally stems that are in flower but have not yet formed any seedheads, which greatly limits the potential of you spreading them any further.

This article was first featured in my Stuff ‘Homed’ gardening column for beginners and The Press on January 22 2021
All words and images are my own, shot in my garden in Christchurch, New Zealand.

A display of foxgloves in the Marlborough Sounds

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