Nantwich, Cheshire, 2010"Her hoe encounters orach, charlock, thistles, couch-grass - progress is slow; the field is choked with weeds...Now at the edge of the forest, (she) has found a clump of red willow herb - it's a damp little hollow, where the potatoes are small and mouldy but the willow-herb thrives...She hacks away vigorously, her lips pressed shut. She's learned to hate weeds, those useless, destructive things, and she chops away at them implacably...
The red willow-herb lies piled up on the ground; it's been defeated for now. Yes it will grow back, that's what weeds do, and really you should pick it up out of the loosened ground after ploughing, because each bit of individual root left underground will put forth new shoots. But (she) knows the place now; she'll keep an eye on it and she'll keep coming back until the willow-herb is gone for good."
-Hans Fallada, Alone in Berlin (p 370-373)-
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