Opinion editor's note: Star Tribune Opinion publishes a mix of national and local commentaries online and in print each day. To contribute, click here.
•••
NASHVILLE — When I mention the new meadow I am cultivating where our front yard used to be, my adult children roll their eyes. The word "meadow" conjures the mental image of a sunny field of blooming wildflowers, but this one is a work in progress. A dream more than an actuality.
The new meadow where our front yard used to be is mainly white clover, chickweed and grass gone to seed, though there are also patches of low-growing violets, which I love, and creeping Charlie, which I do not. (An invasive species, creeping Charlie is the bane of the natural yard.) But already there are also some lovely clumps of fleabane — small daisylike flowers on knee-high stems — that look very much like the romantic fields brought to mind by the word "meadow." Soon there will be other flowers, too. Perhaps not this year but certainly the next, and there will be even more the year after that.
This is not a statement of faith but of fact. Every year we let more patches of our yard go wild, and every year more flowers appear in the uncut areas. First came pokeweed and butterweed in the backyard, then white snakeroot and Carolina elephant's foot in the side yard. Last year we had frost asters for the first time.
May is Garden for Wildlife Month, according to the National Wildlife Federation, but gardening doesn't necessarily mean planting. It can also mean giving the volunteer flowers a permanent home. Because where there are wildflowers, there will be insects. And where there are insects, there will be birds and bats and tree frogs and many other creatures who rely on the protein insects provide.
Many eco-gardeners do this kind of re-wilding, as the movement is called, in an intentional way, killing off the turf grass and eradicating the invasives before replanting with native flowers and grasses. It's the micro version of large-scale conservation efforts to restore ecosystems, preserve biodiversity and mitigate the damage caused by climate change. Perhaps the most famous example of re-wilding is the reintroduction of wolves to Yellowstone National Park.
My own life, not to mention my very self, isn't set up to manage a re-wilding project from conception to pristine reality, even on our half-acre lot. But unlike the pollinator garden I've been cultivating for years, the meadow where our yard used to be started itself. True, our first stem of goldenrod is one I transplanted last year from a friend's property outside town, and I started the frostweed and ironweed and anise hyssop from seeds passed along by fellow native-yard enthusiasts. But everything else arrived on its own: white avens, wingstem, rattlesnake master, plus three new varieties of goldenrod and some other new plants that I won't be able to identify until I see them in bloom.