If you could go back in time, what is the one thing you would change? For me, the answer is easy. This very premise is explored by Stephen King in his novel 11/22/63. I’ve been a Stephen King fan since being introduced to his short stories by my boss when I was a computer operator in the late ’70s. Until then, my dyslexia stood in the way of reading novels with any regularity. Something about King’s writing, especially the character development and his supernatural universe, was compelling enough for me to push through and become a lifelong reader. In his book, King explores the idea of what would happen if someone were to travel back in time and prevent the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. Stopping Oswald before his evil takes out a beloved leader seems a quest worthy of Jake Epping, a high school English teacher from, you guessed it: Maine. But being a Stephen King story, let’s just say things did not turn out so well. Back to what I would change. The answer is easy. I would stop whoever it was in the 1600s who decided to import a certain medieval cash crop to the United States. The same one that made entire towns like Toulouse, France, fabulously wealthy. Sure, fermenting the leaves resulted in an indigo blue dye used in everything from Viking war paint to Scottish clothing, but today, it has become the bane of my existence. If you have not guessed yet, I’m referring to Dyer’s woad (Isatis tinctoria). While it was first imported to the East Coast as a cash crop in the 1600s, many believe the real western incursion to Utah and California occurred in 1910, when woad seeds hitched a ride in a bag of alfalfa seeds. This plant is straight out of a King novel. I’m sure Randall Flagg himself carries a sack of them from his evil garden. The Walkin’ Dude spreads them throughout the West like a demented Johnny Appleseed. There they grow, fertilized by the very herbicide provided by the county’s weed department. At first, it is a cute little medallion, biding its time until year two when it produces its nasty yellow flowers, the color of Flagg’s teeth. That’s when the noxious weed enlists an army of ants and mosquitoes to chase off would-be human weed pullers. Then, the tens of thousands of seeds produced by each plant are consumed by elk, deer, and birds, fertilized in their digestive systems, and distributed far and wide. Killing the plant is not enough. Once those tiny, evil black seeds are released into the wild, they can lie dormant for eight to 10 years before germinating. Whether a quarter-acre or 200, landowners in our community spend countless days and untold amounts of money attempting to control and eradicate this noxious invader. Our county government passes laws and funds an entire department dedicated to weed control. And while there are many noxious weeds in our community, none is more hated than the Russian mustard cousin we call Dyer’s woad. So to save our hillsides, I’m going to need to punch 1910 into Dr. Emmett Brown’s DeLorean to intercept that delivery to Brigham City. Of course, the DeLorean will need some off-road tires and a lift, because once that flux capacitor does its magic, the smooth modern asphalt will be replaced by the bone-jarring ruts, dust and gravel of the railroad town’s main street. Once I land, I’ll need to be dressed for the part. I’ll ditch the Marty McFly puffy vest and go with Roland’s gunslinger outfit from King’s “Dark Tower” series. Blending into the community is the priority. The six-shooter will have to be replaced by a clipboard when I land a job at the depot as a freight clerk. I’ll spend months checking every single seed sack unloaded from the incoming boxcars, waiting for the exact shipment contaminated by those noxious black woad seeds. And believe me, after years in the trenches, I know exactly what those evil little black seeds look like. Once found, I’ll pack them off to the outskirts of town, build a massive bonfire, and light the night sky with thousands of bright embers fueled by the burning woad seeds. Then I’ll pull out my DeLorean time machine, head back to the future, and … wait, what?! I forgot to put stabilizer in the gas tank! Ari Ioannides, chair of the Summit County Republicans, is a recovering tech entrepreneur, founder of BootUP PD, and serves on local government and nonprofit boards. He offers a conservative perspective on local politics. He can be reached at [email protected] The post The Porcupine Quill: If I could change one thing … appeared first on Park Record. ...read more read less