I'm very fond of gill-over-the-ground, (glechoma hederacea). In the past two years, the small, vibrant patches of it, responded to environmental. and soil conditions, with soil growing poorer in quality. I joined this site and forum today having read Ellie Strand's comment,
"I love Charlie for exactly that reason. The only downside is it tends to get into the middle of plantings where you don't necessarily want it. It will out compete some delicate flora, but I don't let that bother me. If a plant can't stand up for itself it needs a different gardener"
Her statement describes me to a "T" and I found it heartening, and yet... this summer, the glechoma has covered the back "lawn.," and I gaze out with mixed emotions.
As a child, I was happiest sitting in a field, gazing at the wildflowers, of which there was an abundance. In subsequent decades, I have lived various places and seen the destruction of wildflowers. The
yard here sprouted various asteraceae on its own, and, every year, along with plantago, three varieties of solidago, (goldenrods), milkweeds, and the like, resulting in a yard is filled with wildflowers growing wildly, oftentimes giving the appearance of B-grade science fiction aliens, especially the cichorium intybus, (chicory, cornflower, and by all other names known). The few remaining
bees love this arrangement, and I thrill to the late summer and autumnal color display, and the winter architecture of the dried plants, and yet...
I love a formal, suburban-traditional yard. Mowed grass. Nothing out of place. Not a stray leaf or plant stem to be seen. Thoughtfully chosen and constructed flower gardens, by "real" gardeners, or the people hired to make create them. This paradox makes my wildflower-pollinator-love, rather challenging, especially as the property sits in a neighborhood that is more the latter. I can not, by any interpretation, be described as a "gardener."
For the first three years of residence here, maybe a bit longer, the yard had patches of wildflowers, but there was green grass. I look at photographs of that time, and wonder how "I" and Nature made this perfect harmony. (A feeling of self-disgust is hard to repress here). But I kept noting the increasing absence of wildflowers in the area - I
should note that this is an in-town location, and it has become more of a mission to ensure the continuance of things wild, as well as to decrease the amount of lawn that requires, (by ordinance), mowing, with the result that the "harmony" is solely that of the colors and sounds of a few
bees.
There are days, like this one, when I would like nothing better than to pull most every wildflower up by the roots, and attempt to recreate the harmony, and more traditional look of the early years. I wonder if I have "given up" or "given over." When considering the likelihood of having to live in an apartment-type building again, I know I could not. If I cannot walk outside immediately, and straight from room to outdoors, there would be no point. Now, if I had the finances, I could happily have a small patio, preferably enclosed and private, with doors opening directly to it. This will not happen. This isn't something you can talk yourself into, if the greatest pleasure you have known is being within the natural word. But I have digressed...
The gill-over-the-ground, is not going to be replaced by grass, as much as it has replaced all but a few square feet of "lawn." I will 'suffer' the sense of misfit, so that I can exult in nature-over controlled environment. I will try not to embrace the rare passerby who expresses great joy from the sight of the "wild" yard, and I will look forward to the Spring, clinging to the hope that the bumblebees will have spread the word that this, this, THIS, yard, with its glorious blooming treats, is, to them, the Ritz.
And, re-quoting Ellie Strand, "If a plant can't stand up for itself it needs a different gardener." Me, too.