There’s a patch of cracked tarmac on a footpath near where I walk my dog. It’s not big. Just a small tear in the surface with a bit of green forcing its way through. I’ve passed it countless times, but recently, I stopped and actually looked at it.

The tarmac is designed to be solid. It keeps rain out. It keeps roots down. It’s supposed to be a barrier between the natural world and the neatly paved one we’ve built. But barriers rarely last as long as we like to think.

A tiny plant has managed to force its way through. The science behind that is simple. The constant pressure from the growing shoot exploits the weakest points; microfractures, gaps, places where water seeps in and starts the slow process of breaking things apart. In colder weather, that water freezes, expands, and deepens the cracks. Over time, what looked like a solid, permanent surface starts to fall apart. And the plant keeps growing.

It reminds me of what we’ve covered in class about antimicrobial resistance. We throw everything we’ve got at bacteria: antibiotics, disinfectants, control measures, and still they find a way. Resistant strains evolve. New weak spots appear. We underestimate how determined life can be, and how fragile the barriers we build really are.

This little patch of footpath isn’t any different. It’s easy to forget that, under all the concrete, asphalt, and neat boundaries, the real power still sits with nature. It’s patient. It’s relentless. And given enough time, it always finds a way through.

A Closer Look

Here’s a couple of photos from the footpath. It’s not much, but it says a lot.