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A weed can be growing beside you for years without causing a bit of trouble. Then somebody teaches you its name — and tells you to be afraid of it.
Suddenly, it’s everywhere.
This week, between two eclipses, I am roaming a horse pasture hunting foxtail, an ancient grass that has followed agriculture for thousands of years and that I had been conditioned to fear during my unfortunate former life selling hay.
There are horses. There are weeds. There are extremely particular hay buyers. There is a basic white girl ordering at Starbucks. There is a brief agricultural history lesson and a small…
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