“If I had a yard, I would play in it.” –The Choir
The purpose of this blog has been to move readers to explore their backyards and neighborhoods, to get them to know the plants and animals that belong. The hope is that once they know their fellow creatures, they will come to love them (yes, even the skunks) and work to protect them. If you don’t know someone or something you can’t love them and if you don’t love someone or something, you probably won’t work to protect it.
Love alone will transform the world—not an abstract love for humanity nor love for the idea of the ecosphere, but a concretized particular love.
Know your neighbors—eve the ones who don’t seem so lovable.
Know your backyard, learn what belongs there. Love what belongs there—to the best of your ability (yellow jackets don’t engender much love, do they?)
I happen to be fortunate enough to have two yards—one in a suburban area, another rural.
At a quick glance, this floodplain doesn’t appear attractive. It lacks boulders, conifers, and other features we associate with rivers (or at least the ones I imagine). But beauty is there for those who take more than a few seconds to locate it.
I was just this week visiting a floodplain of the Kalamazoo River, and yep, all the floodplains I’ve encountered lack the sparkling beauty of other ecosystems.
The county has created some “grow zones” in the floodplain near my home. Grow zones are areas where mowing is minimal and the native plants—usually deliberately planted—are allowed to grow unmolested.
The advantage of this corridor in an urban setting is the amount of biodiversity that resides or passes through. Of late, some hawks have been calling. Screech owls, great blue herons, turkey vultures, and Baltimore orioles can be heard or seen. There are the regular songbirds too—chickadees, nuthatches, titmice, goldfinches, grackles, crows, blue jays, mourning doves, cardinals, robins, among others.
Toads, mice, bats, skunks, raccoons, opossums, moles, woodchucks, and even white-tailed deer wander through the neighborhood. Some years back I spotted a coyote in the park. This year I spotted a painted turtle (I think) a couple of times basking in the sun on a log in the middle of the river.
Most of this wildlife spills into my postage stamp of a yard at times. Birds and bats congregate around my shagbark hickory. The American beech tree in the back provides shade and beech nuts for squirrels, birds, and chipmunks.
I’ve been able to attract more insects, and thus more birds, to my yard by filling a section next to my driveway with butterfly weed, culver’s root, purple coneflower, rough blazing star, prairie smoke, June grass, and rattlesnake master—all native plants.
Not bad for a heavily urbanized area.
My other yard is a bit better: three-and-a half-acres of black oak barren. For those not in the know, an oak barren is an old way of describing a prairie or savannah that is punctuated by the occasional oak tree.
Located one county to the west, this yard sits in the Huron River watershed. Even though I-94 is about a mile-and-a-half south, one can’t hear much hissing from the highway.
In the spring I am serenaded by wood, chorus, and green frogs, followed a couple months later by the gray tree frog.
Hawks and sandhill cranes make themselves known by shrieks and bugles. Songbirds abound. Wild turkeys leave evidence of their presence with clawed feet in the sandier soils. Occasionally, barred owls and great-horned ones make announcements. There is a plethora of insects (including the ever-annoying mosquito), rabbits, mice, deer, raccoons, and other unseen mammalian visitors.
Turning up dirt, rocks, bags, and boards surprises the garter and milk snakes.
About one-third of the property is oak-hickory woods, including about 2/3 of a pond, while the rest is struggling grassland that I’m trying to restore to prairie.
The silence is restorative even if interrupted by buzzing, clicking, chirping, and humming.
If I had my druthers, I’d spend most of my time at my second yard. For now, that isn’t to be. So, I’m slowly replacing many of the exotic plants in my suburban yard with natives; I keep about half of the back yard unmowed during the summer to provide a more natural habitat, and I steward the park down the street by removing invasive plants.
This month’s essay is a bit nebulous to the challenge. Why don’t you briefly (or prolifically) describe your yard in the comments section after you’ve taken some time to explore it all. You might be surprised to find what you have dwelling alongside you.