Random rules
“Let’s not fool ourselves,” said ourselves. “We are the interlopers. Before our gardens were dug, Nature had its own easy way with our spaces, and it insists on a presence still, and when lambs quarters and purslane sprout in the middle of our best efforts, that’s just Nature chuckling.”
Whereas ourselves prefer some predictability and order in our gardens, Nature is random. We plant snow peas in a row by a trellis, but rudbeckia – been here forever – might show up anywhere. Gardeners persevere around things like weather and what some call weeds, and Nature allows our contributions to flourish as well. We share.
So, on sunny, dewy spring mornings, ourselves with great purpose plant our beans and broccoli. We dutifully return to cultivate and water… when what to our wondering eyes should appear but Golden Alexanders standing in the pathway! “Surprise!” says the ground we walk on.
And along the fences, Rosa canina, a petite wild rose with pink flowers, will instinctively take over any intersection and expand its jurisdiction while our backs are turned. How did it get there? Plus, roses tell us Nature has thorns. The red rose hips are free of charge for the cautious. Just like with blackberries, the careless pay a price.
Monardas are mint cousins, and M. bradburiana lives on my rocky hillside. I didn’t put it there. It makes a showy, untamed display of white flowers every spring, and its leaves have been used for tea. It’s not my favorite for tea. Instead, I prefer to use the dry leaves as an aromatic mulch to deter bad bugs. For my birthday seven years ago, Nature sneaked in one M. punctata plant, a glorious surprise which, so far, was a one-hit wonder though there are nurseries which offer seeds for sale. I, for sure, need more seeds.
Yarrow, plantain, and curly dock are other veterans that live here, and I host them where I can, get a harvest, then let them spread because I can’t stop them.
Regarding our contributions, Nature has its way with those as well. For example, I was given a couple comfrey plants which were purportedly a more manageable variety. Comfrey has its value as a compost plant and wound healer when used properly, but it will spread and, once in place, every piece of root will sprout new plants. I once harvested a comfrey volunteer with a root two feet long. Nature apparently wants lots of comfrey in this world.
I contribute to the natural randomness by allowing plants to mature and produce seeds. Dill, arugula and cherry tomatoes regularly homestead like pioneers all over my hillside. A few years ago, two parsley plants in their second year grew side-by-side as tall as me, and seeds scattered hither and thither, as they say. Parsley seedlings still emerge along pathways in Nature’s random design. I think I like random. I’ve seen bok choi volunteers sprout between rocks in a border.
Nature also brings us crawly things. Allow me to introduce the Antheraea Polyphemus larva, a lime green caterpillar. If a squirrel doesn’t eat it first, it becomes a large brown moth with two spots like eyes on its hind wings. Cool. They eat plants, but so do we. Unless you’re a plum tree in California, no need to panic about them.
However, say hello to the hickory tussock moth caterpillar, known for its fuzzy appearance and gang-like behavior. The white hairs on its sides are barbed and, upon contact, will detach and embed in human body parts causing rashes and irritation. A scary horde of them will gather under leaves for a rowdy dinner and stay for breakfast. Typical victims are hickory, ash, and walnut trees but also roses, raspberries, and blueberries.
“So,” said ourselves, “we accept randomness, caterpillars both benign and pernicious, thorns among flowers, and plantain in the strawberry patch. After all, all we are is Nature.”