The monk had spent most of the trip across the ocean moving between his bedding and the side of the boat, moaning mostly in one, throwing up mostly over the other.
He only had the clothes on his back, his holy text, and the plant in the pot. He was tempted to take some of the berries off since they were meant to soothe seasickness, but he knew that he had to give it the best chance to be introduced into the new world.
He succeeded, so that's why we call it Monk's Folly, as we kill the weed constantly.
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