Meet Virginia’s new boogeyplant.
Illustration by John S. Dykes
“Don’t go back in the tall grass behind the house,” my wife said firmly as she folded up the newspaper. “They could be anywhere.”
“They’re 15 feet tall,” I responded. “I think I’d see one before it could burn my face off.”
“There could be smaller ones that are still growing. Just don’t go out there. It’s not worth it.”
My youngest son was in the room, so I couldn’t show the fear my wife had planted in my brain. I headed with a weed whacker toward the bramble behind our house. I wasn’t going to let some media hysteria about a weed keep me from whacking some. I mean, it’s a plant for God’s sake. It’s not a lion or grizzly. It’s a plant, and we’re in Virginia, not some rain forest or Galapagos island where abnormally deadly is the norm.
But as I took my first step into the brush, I remembered the countless scenes from horror movies in which the guy trying to prove his manhood coolly walks out of the cabin and into the wilderness and there stands not a mythical figure but a Jason or Michael Myers or Freddy Krueger and then off goes the head. I stopped. I decided to go bake something instead.
Until June, the only things that frightened me in nature were ticks carrying Lyme disease, mosquitos carrying encephalitis, foxes carrying rabies, bears carrying claws, and Sasquatches carrying me away. That’s it.
But now, there’s hogweed—which, if I read correctly the mountain of stories that emerged when one plant was found 20 miles from us in Clarke County in June, is the worst thing to come to Virginia since typhoid fever plagued early colonists in Jamestown. In the early 17th century, though, there wasn’t yet something called “click bait.” Here are some of the headlines that began appearing in my news feed: “Horror Plant Spreads in U.S.,” the lead story on the Weather Channel’s website read. “Spotted for First Time in Virginia.” I clicked. “Giant Hogweed, Which Causes Burns and Blindness, Found in Virginia.” I clicked again.
And then, “Poisonous Hogweed Burns Unsuspecting Teenage Landscaper,” referring to 17-year-old Alex Childress, who, in photos accompanying the story, looked as if he had been blasted with a flame thrower.
Click, click, click I went as I tracked Alex’s fight through a long healing process.
So, hogweed really is nasty. But, in my mind, fear stoked by the clickiddy click on the smartphone soon greatly exaggerated the threat.
And the Virginia Department of Conservation and Recreation (DCR) is all to blame. Well, and thank.
When the first press release went out from state invasive-species experts, the hope was to use the appearance of the single hogweed in Berryville as a springboard to educate Virginians about the plant.
It was just a quick dose of public service: The hogweed can grow to 15 or so feet. It has a thick green stem covered with purple blotches and white hairs. It has green leaves that are lobed and toothed on the edges. White flowers adorn the weed’s canopy. One plant can produce up to 100,000 seeds. That kind of stuff.
Don’t touch the plant’s sap. Don’t touch the seeds. If you do come in contact with one, stay out of sunlight, wash the area with water, then get to a doctor. Now, go recreate in Virginia’s lovely and heavily wooded state parks.
Shelby Crouch, senior public relations and marketing specialist at DCR, figured a few local papers would pick up the story and, then, the issue would be ground up by the 24-hour news cycle.
“Instead, it exploded into a national story,” Crouch says. And soon, Crouch and members of DCR’s Virginia Invasive Species Working Group were deluged with calls from reporters seeking interviews and citizens asking questions or reporting a sighting. “We want to inform the public,” she says, “but at the same time, we don’t want to freak everybody out.” But, she adds, “Once there were stories appearing everywhere, people got a little freaked out.”
So why did the Berryville Hogweed capture editors’ and peoples’ imaginations and nightmares?
“It’s huge, for one,” Crouch points out. “It really can hurt you if you come into contact with it.”
The hogweed can burn and blind you—two extreme acts of violence compared to the usual bush-league plant defenses that prick your finger or make you itch. And, it could be anywhere. It could be in your back yard, your nearby park, your favorite hiking trail. “A lot of its characteristics are like something out of a horror film,” she says.
Residents from around Virginia began calling to report sightings. One woman called in with information about “one of those Hogwarts things.” For the most part, people were misidentifying harmless lookalikes. To help folks out, members of the Invasive Species Working Group began publishing lengthy informational pieces on their website, VaInvasiveSpecies.org.
The broad takeaway from the website is—relax. It might be cow parsnip, angelica or common elderberry, and there are currently very few actual hogweed plants in Virginia.
I’d like to think I’m now informed enough to spot the beast before rubbing some in my eyes. Thank you to Crouch and the extension agents and scientists who are working to keep us informed as they wipe hogweed out. And thank you to hogweed as well. Because it’s exciting to have a bit of danger out here in my numbingly safe modern ex-urban life.
And more importantly: I finally have a costume idea for this year’s neighborhood Halloween party.
This article originally appeared in our October 2018 issue.
