What Keeps Us Going When the Weeds Keep Growing

This was a question that came to us earlier this season from Andrew Munson, a Noxious Weed coordinator over in San Juan County. 

It wasn’t a rhetorical question — he was genuinely wondering how other weed professionals handle the hard stuff: the Sisyphean [no end in sight] reputation of Noxious Weed control, the thankless days, the public skepticism, the physical toll, the moments that make you ask what’s the point? 

We felt it. Because we’ve all been there. 

So we turned the question around and asked our own staff: 

4 people in neon work vests sitting along a river bank on lunch break smiling

Their answers were thoughtful, grounded, funny, honest, and deeply motivating. We’re sharing them here as a way to wrap up our season and send some encouragement to anyone else out there wrestling with the same question — whether you’re a seasoned weed pro, a new landowner, or just someone who’s ever stood in a thicket of knotweed and sighed, this is for you.

It turns out, a lot of us are kept going by the tiny, tangible victories — the ones that ripple outward in ways we’ll never fully see. 

“My long-term goals are really to keep helping the butterflies with their short-term goals.” — Lauren Vorona 

“Even if a site is developed later, I think about the birds and insects who got to enjoy that little refuge for a while.” — Harvey Martin 

“Every tansy we pull is prevention — that’s so many seeds that won’t grow.” — Maria Winkler

We know it’s easy to miss the progress when weeds come back or new ones move in. But sometimes progress looks like fewer seeds in the soil, a landowner who learned about knotweed and left empowered to tackle it on their own, or a pasture owner relieved to know their horse is safe from tansy for another season.

One of the biggest mindset shifts we’ve had as a team is letting go of the idea that this work ever gets “finished.” 

a group of people in the distance across the river, in front of knotweed, wearing tacky clothes wearing herbicide backpacks.
An infestation can seem fine one year, and insurmountable the next. Knotweed didn’t appear as an issue until a large flood in the early 2000’s, we had to adapt. We now have an entire team dedicated to it.

“Recognizing we won’t finish the work, but we will move it forward has been an important shift in my thinking.” — Rahel Stampfer 

“The small connections that I form with places in my own work where I see progress or I see plants and creatures and people using those places is gratifying and motivating. There is no point at which we will be done toiling…the small wins matter, even if they’re temporary, even if they matter to only a few. — Ashlie Arthur 

“The environment is always changing — floods, fire, new infestations. The work is in learning to ride the waves. Even if it’s temporary, I love seeing the little break from the chaos, if only for a moment.” — Harvey Martin 

Restoration isn’t a one-and-done task. It’s a long-term relationship with place. We tend, we adapt, we learn. It’s seasonal. It’s cyclical. And in a way, that’s what makes it meaningful. 

Weed work can be solitary at times, but it’s also deeply human. Our teammates, our community partners, the landowners we work with — that’s often where the motivation lives. 

A group of people in safety vests standing together under a flowering tree, smiling and posing for the camera, with backpacks and gear on the grass in the foreground.
Why tackle it alone when you can work as a team? While most of our staff manage their own sites, we make an effort to help out on each other’s projects even if that means taking time away from our own.

“Honestly? It’s the people I work with. On the hardest days, I feel held by my restoration community, the work connects me to not only my coworkers, but also to those who did the work before and me and those that will come after me. That sense of belonging is everything.” — Skye Pelliccia 

Feeling like I really helped a landowner begin to think about what it means to be a good caretaker of their little green slice of King County is a rewarding aspect of the work.”— Maria Winkler 

“When I’m stopped by members of the public who say they’ve noticed the positive changes, it makes the work feel worthwhile.” — Roy Brunskill 

Weed control is hard — and sometimes awkward, sweaty, bureaucratic, or deeply unglamorous. But we laugh together, we learn together, and we all want the same thing: healthy landscapes, thriving ecosystems, fewer burrs in our socks. 

The work can feel endless if you try to tackle everything. But it gets clearer (and a lot more satisfying) when we focus our energy on what matters most. 

A group of people wearing casual outdoor clothing and safety vests gather in a green meadow surrounded by trees, some are seated on the ground while others stand nearby, engaged in a discussion.
Our group focuses specifically on Regulated Noxious Weeds. We trudge through thorny thickets just to reach a single purple loosestrife plant. This is our niche! Other groups focus on the blackberry, and another on replanting the site. No one should expect to do it all alone.

“We break the Sisyphean [seemingly unending] task down into prioritized, achievable chunks. Be strategic and focus on what makes the most difference.” — Steve Burke 

“There are not enough resources in the world to control all of the weeds. Sometimes you have to embrace a patch of blackberry when there isn’t a better plan or capacity. And that’s OK.” — Rahel Stampfer 

“I like to talk through long-term site goals with people before jumping to control options. I.e. if the creeping thistle is the only finch habitat, let’s get other beneficial plants established before we start controls. Weeds have become part of our environment, and we have to take care as we bring balance back to the ecosystem.” — Maria Winkler 

Knowing your goals — and your limits — is essential in this work. Strategy gives us permission to say no to things that aren’t achievable and yes to the places where we can make a difference. 

The most resonant idea from our team was this: this work is more than a job. It’s a relationship — to land, to community, to ourselves. And relationships take tending. 

Three individuals standing in front of a wooden fence, smiling, with several large black garbage bags filled with collected weeds or debris next to them, surrounded by trees and a house in the background.
You’re looking at 7 contractor trash bags full of garlic mustard, all collected from one property. We go back every year to help the 90-year-old landowner who lives on her own so that she can access her yard with ease. Restoration has endless potential to foster community.

“I can’t NOT do this work. It’s like my relationship with my spouse or my own body. There’s no point at which it won’t need care.” — Ashlie Arthur 

“It’s not about removing what “doesn’t belong” but building or rebuilding a connection and responsibility to the land (and sharing that in community). A gratitude for these spaces, weeds and all, that allow me to return as an annual and unending ritual.” — Allison Bachner 

“You’re not alone, your contribution is not small, a lot of people believe this work is important, and this site/city/state/country would look very different if we all gave up.” — Erin Haley 

“I like to dream of a lovely future where our communities are more integrated into natural systems, and everyone plays a part in stewardship. Call it unlikely, but I’m really grateful to be doing the work that could lead to it. — Harvey Martin 

We know that some sites will fail. Some plans will stall. Some efforts will be reversed. But even then — especially then — it’s worth showing up again. Because the alternative is giving up on the land. And none of us are ready to do that. 

The last, but not least important concept to our team was that truly enjoying the work and the perks that come with it is an essential tactic to sustaining motivation even on the harder days.

Group of people in tacky suits and dresses posing fancily in front of a wall of knotweed along the riverbank.
Every Fall our riparian team has a “formal treatment day”, where everyone dresses in their finest thrifted attire for a normal workday of treating knotweed along the Cedar river.

“You have to have a reason for doing the work, otherwise it sucks and you don’t want to keep doing it. Like appreciating the benefits and beauty of native plants and creatures impacted by weeds. Otherwise you’re just killing things for the sake of killing things and that makes you the problem.” — Ashlie Arthur

“Years ago, I learned that hating the weeds just made the work stressful and miserable. So now I try to see what’s interesting, beautiful, or funny about them.” — Harvey Martin

“For a long time, I’d feel weirdly guilty for having fun workdays because they didn’t feel like work. Learning to allow myself to instead fully cherish these days as they’re happening has been a huge motivator, especially on the rougher ones.” — Skye Pelliccia

“Knowing that playing in these spaces is part of the equation of developing and spreading care! Playing connects us to our humanity and so many other species that we share the natural world with.” — Allison Bachner

There’s nothing wrong with appreciating weeds for what they are…plants. Many of us got into this field so we could work outdoors/with plants alongside like-minded community in care of the environment. Plants are part of our community, and good days are a part of our work. Embrace the good parts and laugh off the rest.

Weed season is winding down, and we’re headed into the quieter months. Time for boots to dry out, brains to shift into planning mode, and for us all to take a breath. 

If you’re out there doing this work too — whether you’re in it professionally, or just showing up for your backyard or neighborhood park — we see you. And we’re with you. 

There’s a lot that’s outside our control. But what is within our reach? Pull a patch. Teach a neighbor. Ask a landowner what they want their space to become. Keep going — and rest when you need to. 

Thanks for doing this work with us. 

What keeps you going in this work? 
Email us, send us a note, or come say hi at a training or event. We’re always up for a good weed story.