I'm thinking of mullein (Verbascum) and red clover (Trifolium pratense), plantain (Plantago major) and mint (Mentha), dandelion (Taraxacum) and stinging nettle (Urtica dioica). Useful, beautiful, tasty.
I've been excitedly watching the uncut "weed"-filled grass around our building this spring as one plant after another pops up for me to identify and harvest and use in my medicines. I've munched on chickweed (Stellaria) for vitamins, made poultices to pull out splinters with plantain, and made liver-supporting tinctures for friends with burdock (Arctium). But just before the red clover bloomed last week the grass was cut, the lushness managed, and everything made uniform. I turned to a new favorite Mary Oliver poem for solace.
On not mowing the lawn
Let the grass spring up tall, let its roots sing and their seeds begin their scattering.
Let the weeds rejoin and be prolific throughout.
Let the noise of the mower be banished, hurrah!
Let the path become where I choose to walk, and not otherwise established.
Let the goldfinches be furnished their humble dinner.
Let the sparrows determine their homes in security.
Let the honeysuckle reach as high as my window, that it may look in.
Let the mice fill their barns and bins with a sufficiency.
Let anything created, that wants to creep or leap forward,
be able to do so.
Let the grasshopper have gliding space.
Let the noise of the mower be banished, yes, yes.
Let the katydid return and announce himself in the long evenings.
Let the blades of grass surge back from the last cutting.
Or, if you want to be poetic: the leaves of grass.
- Mary Oliver