Rewilding: A Test of Patience

I’m convinced my gardeners think I’m nuts. For months now, I’ve asked them not to rake or pull any of the plants growing on the large dirt hill that makes up most of my backyard. My mother and I spread wildflower seeds across most of the hill, and I was waiting to see which of the tiny sprouts would become flowers I wanted to keep versus “weeds” which would be sentenced to a quick death. This brought up a moral dilemma for me: where do I draw the line between a plant which is allowed to grow in my garden, and one which is not? And what criteria actually make up these categories?

Traditionally, “weed” is a term used for any plant one has not planted or grown on purpose, or one that is overtaking others in its area. However, many native plants typically placed in the “weed” group like dandelion, nettles, and chickweed also have medicinal uses and could be harvested rather than pulled and tossed as waste. While identifying, harvesting, and processing these plants into useful medicines can sometimes be time consuming, it can also potentially replace remedies one may purchase or otherwise acquire from outside the home. If pesticides and other chemicals haven’t been used in the area, there’s usually no reason why these plants can’t be useful.

This brings me back to my big question: where is the line between wanted and weed, and why is the line where it is? To better determine the answer, I decided to first observe what grew in the hill garden, and what those plants did, before changing anything. To my gardener’s dismay, I let all of the plants go wild. Dandelions reached up towards the sun at least 12 inches off the ground, false clover invaded the spaces between, and every so often a tiny tuft of grass forced its way through the mix. After a couple weeks of quick growth spurts fueled by a few back to back rain storms, I finally ventured onto the hill with gloves and a small spade to begin thinning the miniature jungle. What I observed was both comforting and humbling.

An abundance of life greeted me as I began thinning out the growth on the hill, plant by plant. As I pulled up large clusters of false clover which weave together and create a sort of mat over the ground, I noticed countless tiny seedlings which had been sheltered beneath them. With every bundle of roots that came up from the ground, worms and beetles could be seen digging their way back to darkness. Pill bugs, lady bugs, and bees were also in multitudes crawling across stems, leaves, and dirt around me. I was careful to gently shake off and set aside every plant I pulled before adding it to the waste pile, so any hitchhikers could escape back to the hill. A few days after clearing the largest sections of bigger false dandelion and clover, a diversity of new stems could be seen peeking up from the wet ground. Those stems quickly became several dozen varieties of blooms, which has been a beautiful splash of color on a hill that used to be empty, hard dirt.

So, why am I talking about pulling plants when I questioned the idea of doing so? Those plants, too, had served a wonderful purpose. In growing in the previously hard, rocky soil, they had softened and created channels in it for their roots. They exchanged nutrients with the soil, and even picked up some of the leftover chemicals from past weed killers to “clean” it. Because they were there, some of the other flowers had the opportunity to sprout in the now softened soil. As they grew quickly taller and created a sort of canopy, the tiny seedlings were protected from the heavy rains and hail we experienced over those few weeks, and were also hidden from the curious and hungry birds which also frequent the hill. As they were pulled, their large roots left spaces for others to take advantage of and support a growth spurt in the plants left behind. Because the “weeds” were allowed time to grow, the other life benefitted.

This lesson was so striking to me that I couldn’t help but leave a section of the hill alone, where any plant can grow. False dandelion grew to the height of the fence, bending in the breeze with their yellow flowers displayed brightly. Each morning and evening, around a dozen small birds of several varieties come to sit on the bending stems. They nibble bugs, jump back and forth chasing each other, and chatter away. It’s become one of my favorite times of day, and I love to sit with my son and watch them play. While I do plan to continue clearing the tallest patches so we aren’t too overgrown, I can’t help but note that I have not yet seen a stage of these plants’ lives that has not been useful in some way, despite the fact that I want to remove them. Are they weeds if they have been so useful to the life cycle of this hill garden? Or can we be allowed to acknowledge their use, even though they are not a permanent fixture?

I have deemed this method of gardening “rewilding” for it feels as if I have invited a small wildness back to this small piece of land I have control over. Even though my gardener may raise his eyebrow at the tallest “weeds” waving in the breeze, I hope his eye is more drawn to the bright shades of orange, yellow, pink, red, purple, and indigo which scatter the hill. I hope he hears the increase in birdsong, notes the butterflies and ladybugs visiting the blooms, and smiles. I hope my rewilding, although it may have tested his patience, has given him a reason to appreciate the plants he usually pulls without a thought.

I thoroughly enjoyed this exercise in rewilding, and now I find myself wondering which other areas of my life I can practice this tactic. How can I allow a natural process to unfold, as undisturbed as possible, and observe what happens before trying to make a judgement or alteration? The answer is a comfort… this is the Midwifery Model of Care in a nutshell. Observe, respect the natural order, and intervene only when necessary. Phew, do I love this work!