What lesson does Choe Chong-dae draw from weeds on his farm in Cheonan?

He says weeds taught him that resilience often goes unnoticed. What once seemed like a nuisance came to represent something that quietly protects the land and holds the soil together.

Why does the column say weeds are useful in agriculture?

The column says weeds help prevent topsoil from washing away in summer rain, shelter the ground in drought and loosen compacted soil so air and water can enter. It also notes that some weeds can be used as forage for cattle and goats.

What challenge does the column say Korean agriculture is facing?

It says rural areas are losing young people to cities, leaving aging farmers to carry more of the burden and creating a shortage of agricultural labor. The column argues that farming needs to become more attractive to younger generations through technology and stronger rural communities.

The resilience of weeds

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Summary

A guest column by Choe Chong-dae reflects on weeds in a farmyard in Yangdae-ri, Ipjang-myeon of Cheonan, and the lesson they taught him about resilience. He says weeds help bind soil during heavy rain, protect it in drought and loosen compacted ground. He extends the metaphor to ordinary people who keep families, communities and societies running quietly. The column also says Korea’s aging rural workforce and labor shortage threaten agriculture unless farming becomes more attractive to young people.

Key Facts

Choe Chong-dae says he acquired a farmyard in Yangdae-ri, Ipjang-myeon of Cheonan decades ago and planted mugunghwa, persimmons, chestnuts and ornamental trees.
He describes weeds as helping bind topsoil during summer rains, shielding the ground during drought and loosening hard soil with their roots.
The column says some weeds can also serve as forage for animals such as cattle and goats.
It argues that Korea’s agricultural communities face a growing labor shortage as young people move to cities and rural populations age.
The piece says farming should be presented as a viable and rewarding career, with advanced technology and revitalized rural communities helping attract younger workers.

By Choe Chong-dae

Published Sep 20, 2026 11:20 am KST

When I first acquired a farmyard in Yangdae-ri, nestled in Ipjang-myeon of Cheonan, decades ago, I had grand visions of cultivation. After much deliberation, I decided to plant mugunghwa — the rose of Sharon, Korea’s national flower — persimmons and chestnuts, along with various garden and ornamental trees.

I imagined the property transforming into a vibrant rural canvas in spring, painted with the brilliant colors of wildflowers and fruiting trees.

Yet reality on a farm has a way of altering one’s perspective. The beautiful blossoms I anticipated proved fleeting, fading almost as quickly as they appeared, replaced by the relentless growth of weeds. Despite my determined efforts to clear them, every visit to the farm became a seemingly endless battle with the soil. Bent over under the scorching summer sun, sweating and frustrated, I found myself ignoring whatever understated beauty these wild plants possessed, focusing only on ripping them out by their roots.

“Why does this useless grass even exist? What purpose could these troublesome weeds possibly serve?” Then, out of a quiet stillness, a gentle wisdom bloomed in my awareness, casting the moment in a new light.

“Nothing in this world exists without a reason. When summer rains threaten to wash away the topsoil, weeds help bind the earth. During drought, they shelter the ground from the blazing sun. When the soil becomes hard and compacted, their roots can help loosen it, allowing air and water to penetrate. Some even serve as forage for animals such as cattle and goats.”

In that moment, I began to see the farm differently. What I had dismissed as an annoying and insignificant nuisance was, in fact, a quiet protector of the land.

This realization carries a truth that extends far beyond agriculture; it speaks directly to human life.

We live in a culture fascinated by the “wildflowers” — those who light up the world with brilliance, talent or fleeting fame. Yet we often overlook the “weeds,” those who support the world through their quiet perseverance and resilience. Though our abilities, circumstances and roles differ, each of us has a place and a purpose in the larger landscape of life.

Success does not always require the spotlight. There is immense value in simply holding our ground and doing the unseen work that keeps families, communities and societies moving forward. The world continues to function because countless ordinary people quietly do what needs to be done.

So, when we feel unremarkable, we should not regard ourselves as insignificant. Like the seemingly ordinary weeds of a field, we may possess a value that is not immediately visible. Beneath the surface, each of us may be sustaining something larger than ourselves.

Yet when I look beyond my own farmyard, I realize that this quiet resilience faces a serious modern challenge: the growing shortage of agricultural labor.

The very people who have long held the countryside together — the aging farmers who, like deep roots, have become almost inseparable from the land — are increasingly being left to carry the burden alone. This is a major challenge for agricultural communities in Korea. As young people move to cities, rural areas are left with aging populations and fewer hands to cultivate the land, putting the future of agriculture at risk.

If we want to attract a younger generation, farming must be seen not simply as hard physical labor, but as a viable and rewarding career. Advanced technology can make agriculture more productive and attractive, while revitalized rural communities can offer young people meaningful opportunities.

Perhaps the lesson of weeds is that what appears ordinary or inconvenient may quietly perform work essential to the whole.

The weeds I once tried so desperately to eradicate taught me a lesson I could not have learned from the flowers I planted: Resilience does not always bloom in the spotlight. Sometimes, it simply takes root and holds the earth together.

Choe Chong-dae (choecd@naver.com) is a guest columnist for The Korea Times. He is a recipient of Sweden’s Royal Order of the Polar Star, one of the nation’s most distinguished honors.

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