A Little Slice of Paradise

Gardening in the exurbs creates a struggle of wills between volunteers and the gardener's dream. There is a solution, though ... selective weeding.

Garden spaces have provided sanctuary for humans throughout history, from the Hanging Gardens of Babylon to the geometric designs of English gardens as well as the hit or miss trial and errors that exist in some of our backyards, especially those in the exurbs.

That is not to say that our attempts at landscaping our personal environments are haphazard and mediocre. Only the stiffest perfectionist would fail to enjoy the chaos that often takes over our exterior spaces. Sometimes that chaos is deliberate.

I received a mind-bending lesson in selective weeding from one of my neighbors in Truckee, CA who showed me a patch of wildflowers in her front yard that I had admired all summer. Mule ear and Shasta daisies, penstamen and lupines, and wild yarrow with the slightest hint of pink in its white blossoms… all kinds of things blew in on the wind and found grace in her soil.

She demonstrated how she pulled flowers that she didn't like in that space or among certain other blooms. It was a carefully composed choosing of what "weeds" judged pretty by their foliage and flowers. Also, which ones displayed their colors at what time throughout the season was important. Some lasted most of the summer while others flourished in autumn and others alerted us to the coming of The Melt … otherwise known as Spring in snow country. One particular plant of that time period was the Snow Plant, a phallic spear that pierces through the barely-thawed forest duff to show off it brilliant scarlet hue. Luckily, this didn't make the cut for her garden.

I was so enchanted with her practical philosophy that I fostered it in my own front yard. Summer watering included  catmints we'd planted along the driveway as well as the yarrow, forget-me-nots, and rabbit brush, a type of "sage" that turns our world yellow from mid-August to mid-October. A huge specimen of it grew to such a beautiful, rounded shape that another neighbor asked me where I purchased it. She wanted one for her yard and was amazed when I told her it was a volunteer. All I did was water it.

Later that summer, when wildfire season drew the attention of the Town authorities, a young man brutally destroyed my beautiful rabbit brush because it happened to grow at the foot of a power pole. He couldn't understand why I raged at him like a woman insane. Actually that's exactly what I was. Insane with rage and an aesthetic that defied anything this poor kid could imagine.

You see, in mountain and desert communities where the climate is harsh and unforgiving, it's best to let the wild things flourish in your yard. You'll go absolutely nuts if you defy this edict. Just do it for your own good and that of the environment. Planting things that you loved in the humid sea level marine soils of the coasts will die a grizzly death under the searing high desert sun. Even though mountain temperatures rarely reach over 85F, the UV piercing the thin atmosphere will burn the leaves.

Meanwhile, cacti and succulents that thrive in heat will not only try to hide behind the pot from full sun, they will freeze to death in winter. Be kind and invite the ones that blow in on the wind to take root. They will thrive where they land as long as you leave them alone. And that's about as much maintenance as they will need … none.

But what if you don't want them there? Right THERE in the middle of the walkway. That's where selective weeding comes in. And I'm can't guarantee that your heart will not be broken by this process. If you're like me, you will almost hear the poor plant screaming as you pluck it from its chosen home.

"But I heard through the grapevine that this was the best place I could live."

"Don't listen to grapes. They don't know what they're talking about; however, if you allow me to transplant you somewhere more in keeping with my design scheme, you'll be rewarded with regular water, good soil, and maybe a bit of compost. How does that sound?"

"Yak! Too rich for my blood." And it dies in your hand. Wild things don't tame so easily, not even plants. They're much more cogent than we think.

I have had a few minor successes doing this, though, but it takes faith, lots of water to keep them from wilting from shock and horror. And … well … like I said successes were minor. Can't really recall actually growing something from transplant to fruition. Wild things are just too rebellious. So, in weeding, select plants you want to remove and deny your grief as you dump them in the trash heap. There will be plenty of their kind in your garden where you want them. They will give you a subtle beauty that can't be found in that formal garden that consumes other people's time and resources.

When we moved "off the hill" and into a lower elevation with an acre of land, most of that acre was luxurious lawn, tenderly cared for and meticulously groomed by the previous owner. Apparently, his lawns were his hobby and main activity during the weekends. It was lovely. It took my husband one weekend of mowing, however, to realize he had better things to do on his precious free days.

While up in Truckee, he succeeded in planting potatoes; a raised trifecta garden of tomatoes, garlic, and basil; and a strip of strawberries along the driveway. Granted, the harvests were mere handfuls, but they were luscious handfuls. And the arugula in a wine barrel on the patio was peppery hot and delicious. Alas, the temperature in Truckee was just right for growing arugula, cool enough to keep it from bolting and making the leaves rich and full rather than limp and tasteless. Planting them in a barrel in Minden, NV left me with a wimpy plate of yuck.

When Jeff transferred his potatoes, onions, and garlic to Minden, we had a great harvest, far more than we could ever use. Thus, we learned why the most popular cuisine of the Great Basin involved all of these alongside a steak or savory lamb chop. With chickens, we added eggs to our localized diet and realized we would never starve if we could only learn how to store such bounty throughout the year.

Growing crops appropriate to the environment as well as allowing wild flowers to take root in your yard also attracts beneficial bugs and birds. Each year, we have more butterflies and a large variety of songbirds as well as hawks and owls. Nothing is more haunting and beautiful than the doleful call of an owl in the night. I haven't had that pleasure in any other place I've lived.

In a garden, there's always some little drama going on. A desert thrush singing his arias from atop of a power pole. Lizards squaring off for the territory rich in spiders and grasshoppers. Birds nesting in boxes placed in the trees. A friend gave me a gourd she painted which has provided a home for a little titmouse. She thought she was being very clever to hop circuitously through the wisteria before landing in front of her nest inside the gourd. One day, I was thrilled to see the fledging of her brood as they fluttered around the patio. It was the only one of her broods I saw fledge. The others disappeared unseen.

One morning, I was feverishly clipping away at a bush that was burying other plants. As my clipper snapped at the branches, I saw something flitting about on the leaves. Finally I stopped and looked. My God! It was a tiny Praying Mantis about two inches tall trying to stay out of harm's way. I picked it up and marveled at its magnificent form. It rested in my palm while I decided what to do with the poor wee beastie. At last, I put it on the edge of the birdbath so it could get a drink, but it scurried away to shelter elsewhere. It was the only praying mantis I've ever seen and since then have not seen another in the garden. Its progeny could be hiding anywhere, though, so I've learned to be more careful.

During my summers pruning this little slice of paradise, I've become aware that whole communities live amongst the undergrowth. It's been fun to watch them as I sit in the swing. I try to use clippers and weed-whackers cautiously so I don't injure or kill someone. My watering and other bumblings about have threatened a few of these little neighbors upon occasion. It's hard to think of myself as a facetious and careless god ruling over natural habitat. The community changes over time, but any changes I make to it are considered with care for the critters who allow me to live in their space.

Each spring, I'm overwhelmed with the gifts that have blown in on the winter winds to settle in my yard. To help me alleviate some of this bounty, I've hired the County to spray pre-emergent spray along driveways and pathways. To my horror, I've watched these guys spew a fire hose of poison on my acre and have stopped calling them. Selective weeding has grown to a back-breaking level, though. By July, I'm exhausted and wheezing with allergies and there is so much more left to do. Nature is turning up the screws on my endeavors.

Luckily, other gardeners have given me a more effective recipe for the non-toxic vinegar/salt/Dawn herbicide that has worked very well in non-garden areas close to the house. Jeff has increased his farming efforts, adding a beehive. We watch in amazement as the girls work on the deer tongue, lavender, catmint, and daisies way past sunset. Hummingbirds and hawk moths sup from the honeysuckle. And the population of swallowtails and other butterflies grows bigger each year.

When a landscaper configured a more formal garden in one portion of the backyard lawn, he forgot to lay down a fabric weed barrier. The former lawn continues to grow up through the soil, smothering the plants the landscaper carefully chose and challenging me to continuous duels with the weed whacker. I want to shave it down and drown it in vinegar solution just to end the yearly battle. It's literally killing me and everything else. Grass rules supreme!.

Then today, as I gazed upon the cut grass between the shrubs I unburied, I wondered if I should just let it go. Weedwhack it regularly so that it cools the ground between plants. As long as it doesn't hog the water, will it be okay? Will it relieve me of my obsessive compulsion toward herbicide or will it drive me nuts?

Jeff heard my suggestion and immediately decided for me. "NO! That grass has got to go." Gosh, I had no compunction to argue with the man.

In autumn, though. Not now in the deathly heat of July. We'll wait until temperatures cool, our backs recuperate, and it's time to put our little slice of paradise to bed for the winter.

Meanwhile, there's still no shortage of selective weeding to do. A marvelous Echinacea plant emerged in Jeff's potato patch. How it got there, we can only imagine. I'm going to snatch its seeds and spread them as far as they'll go.

Tally-ho!