When we moved into our home in Prescott, some 46 years ago, much of it had been sorely neglected. This oversight extended to the outside of the house and the immediate grounds. We mostly left the bare hillsides surrounding us alone, but there was a small fenced-in front yard. With so much else to repair, we largely left that part of the property alone for awhile. When we finally had time to address the front area, we decided to fix it up right. We hoed and removed all the weeds, left the three rose bushes that had survived (rose bushes are tough), and covered the ground with weed-guard black plastic topped with neatly leveled decomposed granite.
The yard stayed like that for a long time, attended by an occasional gardener and ourselves when we could make the time. Weeds pulled, more granite added as necessary, rose bushes pruned, modest drip-irritation system added.
After much time had passed, it began to strike us more and more forcefully that while the yard remained unchanged, this was not true of the hillside above it. Native bushes provided greenery. Prickly pear sprouted wide, handsome flowers as well as attractive fruit. And every spring and summer a panorama of mostly yellow and white flowers sprang up out of nowhere. Just weeds, our gardener assured us. We nodded and moved on. But the colors remained in our minds’ eyes.
Then one spring a green shoot popped up in the yard itself, having worked its way through the granite and underlying plastic. Ignored, it stubbornly remained in the shadows till one day the multiple branching stems at the top unexpectedly burst forth in a splay of petite white flowers. They were daisylike, but were they daisies?
I looked them up: fleabane. Not a very flattering name. One derived from an old superstition that held that the plant could repel fleas. Another weed, our gardener assured us. But it was prettier for sure than the uniform tan of the decomposed granite. Even though it went by an unimpressive name, we decided to leave it be. Were it named something like the Golden Spray of Samarkand or Queen Wilhemma’s daisy-drop, perhaps our garden guy would have been less inclined to object.
Another soon sprang up elsewhere in the yard. Then, unexpectedly, a different stem topped with blossoms, not white but yellow. Before long much of the yard was spotted with variants of these plants and their wild cousins. White and yellow, yellow and white. The most primitive flower colors, but colorful nonetheless.
This was the plan we followed for the next few years, till we decided that Nature’s program was not only easier on the eyes but easier in general for us to take care of. I say take care of, but we essentially do nothing except keep the burgeoning natural flower field away from the equally insistent roses. They coexist just fine, Nature and nurture. There is grass in the mix as well. Flowerless, but providing cover for the ground-feeding birds and lizards and chipmunks. We could have the grass pulled and leave just the newcomers that bring forth blooms, but that would result in a yard splotched with decomposed granite. The result wouldn’t be aesthetically pleasing. It wouldn’t be Nature. So unless the wild grasses threaten to overwhelm the roses and their neighbors, we let it be.
The result is a front yard that to some eyes doubtless looks messy, except when it blooms. There are guides online that tell you how to plant and propagate fleabane. Seems a bit like overkill, when Nature is willing to handle the necessary dispersion and growth all by herself.
Right now our front yard is rich with small lifeforms and tall yellow and white flowers. It pleases the eye and requires little work on our part. Save for drips that attend to the roses and occasionally keeping grass clear of thorny stems, all this color requires no work on our part. Our gardener still grumbles, but lets it be.
When is a wild plant a ‘weed’ and when is it a ‘wildflower’? Is invading your front yard the difference? Even though Prescott isn’t Phoenix, we could still do xeriscaping up here, and some folks do. But even though desert landscaping requires less work and less water, it still demands interference with Nature. If organizations can strive to re-wild the great American prairie, I reckon the least we can do is try the same with our front yard.
We get the occasional red or blue wildflower now as well. That’s what Nature is about when you let her do her thing. She will constantly surprise you.
Your gardener won’t.
Prescott resident Alan Dean Foster is the author of 130 books. Follow him at AlanDeanFoster. com.
