It was a genetically engineered marvel. A weed – nutritious, filling, and delicious – could grow anywhere. It could grow in the tundra, the driest desert, the highest mountaintop, an urban disaster. You didn’t need to care for it. You didn’t need to water it or fret over it. No pest could destroy it. It was food to whoever harvested it. It had protein, fat, carbohydrates, and other nutrients. The world would never go hungry.
I hated it. No one predicted its ability for growth. I live on a potato farm in Iowa. The potatoes no longer grow. They’ve been crowded out by the weed. And the weed has grown monstrous. I can no longer see the sunset when I stand in my field. All I see is dark green and the wispy ends of the weed.
I’m about to set fire to my field. I could pay a fine and serve jail time for killing the weed. I don’t care. I want it off my property. I miss my potatoes. They weren’t perfect but they were an actual bounty of the Earth. Sometimes they gave you what you needed. Sometimes they did not. That was life and living. Feast and famine.