One thing, then another
In his book Gaia’s Garden, Toby Hemenway describes the typical sequence in which plants transform a cleared area into scrubby grasslands, then to scrubby brushiness, to thickets with a couple pine trees and the next thing you know – the Black Forest. The process might take a century or so, and it is called ecological succession.
College professors who studied succession made lists and drew charts, and they will tell you the first phase of succession is basically what happens next after a patch of land is cleared or burned or somehow made bare. I saw the southern tip of the island of Hawai’i where lava flows had covered the landscape and spilled into the ocean, but ferns nevertheless sprouted on the lava. They were the pioneers. I haven’t been back, so I don’t know what sprouted next.
On my rocky hillside, it wasn’t lava but me and my mattock gouging out the rocks and whatnot claiming space for a garden. This means I set the stage for succession. Typical home gardens might always be kept in a perpetual first phase of succession – annuals in, annuals out. Nothing wrong with however you garden because you are doing the world a favor.
But what happens in phase two? It begins with natives that would been there already but waited for me to break ground. Rudbeckias, monardas, purple dead nettle, lambsquarters, dock, rosa canina all return in my garden without warning every year. And how did purslane get here?
In my gardens through the years, I have always kept a few unexpected native volunteers out of curiosity, but not jimson weed. Didn’t like the smell or the vibe, so never kept them. Its name originally was Jamestown weed because Jamestown was where early British soldiers consumed jimsom weed soup shortly before manifesting a series of deleterious physical complications.
In that vicinity, jimson weed was part of the succession.
Besides the natives that want to live in your garden, there are your own introductions. I once let two parsley plants go through their two-year cycle, and each made a million seeds which scattered down the pathway – an easy way to grow parsley and an example of plants finding a way if we leave them alone, and that’s a good thing. Arugula, cilantro, dill, lettuce and others reseed themselves if allowed, which, if continued, is entering the phase two mindset of succession. It makes for unexpected though unpredictable surprises, and I look forward to being surprised each spring.
And then you can add perennials such as oregano, thyme, comfrey, beautyberries, raspberries, grapes, asparagus… how much room do you have? Interspersed will be annual vegetables, herbs and flowers… how much time do you have?
If a garden space is left to go totally wild with perennials and annual natives, sneaking in three zucchini plants and a couple okras might be a challenge. The goal of ecological succession in personal terms is to help stabilize the ecosystem that is your garden and its environs.
A garden is a living being – perennials here and there, spearmint spreading in the corner, sassafras root keeps shooting up suckers, dead nettle among rocks borders, grass and henbit for the compost – so respectfully keeping beds for healthy, colorful vegetable plants among all this life seems appropriate.
Biodiversity makes an ecosystem more resilient during and after stressful weather events. University professors who study succession and make lists and draw charts claim a biodiverse garden if well-tended will be more productive, so you can try it if you want to. Start by learning more about natives and why those particular ones chose your locale. They came for a reason. I feel I’m walking into a community when I go to my garden.
Each garden space has particular soil, available water and weather patterns, so learn what works for you, and if you need to, look up ecology professors – they have charts.