Gardening on the Wild Side

By Martha Siegel

I like to say that my best asparagus patch is the one I never planted. Here’s what I mean. A couple of years after I established a triangular bed for annuals outside our front door, tiny asparagus plants started sprouting amid the flowers. I was probably annoyed about this for a while, but I must have decided to let those sprouts have a go at it. A few years later, we were consuming delicious stalks from that garden, while the asparagus patch I meticulously and laboriously coached into being over in the vegetable garden was languishing. Why the “real” asparagus never took off and how the accidental one took hold, I’m not really sure, although I suspect birds or small mammals played a role in the arrival of the new plants. But this experience embodies some recurring themes to me as a gardener. More on that later… 

July and August are a glory of coneflower abundance—a gift from this place to us.

Another anecdote: When we first cleared our property for our house and for a small field beyond a stone wall, I imagined a grassy pasture. Indeed we seeded it with a conservation mix, hoping for the best. Twenty years later, we have all kinds of things going on in this space, but I cannot claim that it’s even close to the planned pasture. Because we did not deal with the acidity of the soil, we now have a gorgeous, deep, and lovely moss bed on the shadier end. The middle has developed into a wild blueberry patch that actually produces a worthy crop. The near end is full of all manner of plants of interest, including milkweed for monarchs, and enough grass to provide chicken “hay” and to satiate local porcupines at night so that they need not raid our vegetable garden for tender greens. 

Now consider this: I love the idea of producing food on our land. It’s not always easy to see how to make this happen without an unrealistic infusion of cash and labor. What can we grow here in this former pasture turned to woods turned to yard? We love mushrooms, we grow red oak like there’s no tomorrow, and we have a chainsaw. So we inoculated some logs to try shiitake production, and we have enjoyed the results for many years!

We love mushrooms, ...so we inoculated some logs to try shiitake production

Finally: At our previous house in Bethel, I desperately wanted to grow Echinacea, also known as coneflower. Despite repeated efforts, I just couldn’t get it going. Fast forward to our present property in Albany. A single Echinacea plant came in like a storm and now I simply cannot suppress it. It grows like a weed, sending its root structure and seeds beyond its intended boundary out into my lawn and into different beds. It is a veritable Echinacea plantation. July and August are a glory of coneflower abundance, a gift from this place to us.

You might be catching on to some ideas here. But first, a caveat and some thoughts. I admit that my yard is not going to attract garden clubs and artists, but it is true that my generally chaotic and laissez-faire approach does provide us with joy, a bit of food, some cool photos, and a reliable outlet for my curiosity. Where you fall on the spectrum of control in your yard is obviously a personal preference, and I land way over on one end in my tolerance for disorder. 

Regardless of your situation, perhaps there are messages for all of us in these examples. Maybe there are times to stand back and let the serendipity of nature provide what we need, want, or can use in some way. Perhaps we can struggle less and observe more, noting our local resources and watching what flourishes where we are. We might cultivate the patience and the flexibility to be open to unplanned opportunities that wait quietly wherever we live.

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