Garden of Misfits
About a month ago I read “The Insect Crisis: The Fall of the Tiny Empires that Run Our World”, a book that calls attention to declining insect populations. It reminded me of catching butterflies, beetles, and moths as a child, when I could swing a net and have bundles of bugs to sort through. Now, the net comes up empty. A greater effort is required to find the dragonflies that used to dart by when I was younger, and spotting a firefly at night takes a journey away from city lights and a bit of luck. On top of that, it’s also difficult to find other people who care about the collapse of insect populations. Too many rejoice at the thought of “no more mosquitoes”.
Luckily, I happened to come across another insect lover shortly after finishing the book. He was a former beekeeper I met at the climbing gym. We talked about his bees, and then butterflies, and native plants, and invasive plants, and the destruction of natural ecosystems, up until the gym closed. As we left, he handed me a beat-up business card. It was for a project he just started where he grows native plants from seeds collected within the state and sells them to people who want to transform their yards back into native ecosystems. I foraged through his Facebook page the next day and saw that he would be selling at a native plant festival the next month. I marked the date in my calendar and refrained from filling the empty garden space in my front yard until then.
The plant festival felt like home, I was among my people. I bought a book about sustaining wildlife in your yard at the first booth I saw, and then an ID book for native bees at the second. At the next booth I bought a loupe for observing the more intricate details of any plants I come across and a t-shirt with a coneflower on it. After that I found myself looking at a box full of pinned moths and talking to a researcher about his favorite species — the Painted Schinia (Schinia volupia). And finally, near the end of the day, I made it to my friend’s booth. But by the time I got there the few plants he had left looked rather mangled. I was set on buying them though. I left with a variety of scraggly milkweed plants, a few purple coneflowers that resembled the Charlie Brown Christmas tree, an aromatic aster, and some ground cover plants to complete the crew.
I planted them as soon as I got home. Though their leaves and flowers looked weathered, their root systems were strong and healthy. I had confidence they would look good eventually. But at that moment, they looked like a group of misfits (which is ironic because they were likely the only plants on the block actually native to this state). I wondered what my neighbors would think when they saw them — especially when they compared them to their own yards filled with the prettiest plants Lowes had to offer.
Those thoughts didn’t last long. They faded when I remembered that my plants were for the insects, not my neighbors. It doesn’t matter if the mailman thinks I have weeds growing in front of my porch, as long as the bees have a place to feed and the caterpillars have a place to grow, I’m happy. A functioning, native ecosystem was the goal for my yard, not to be featured on the cover of a home and garden magazine. I could deal with the judgmental glare of the guy down the street who mows, edges, and sprays his yard five times a week if that meant I could watch bees and butterflies flutter from flower to flower.
I felt accomplished with my yard. The plants I added may be insignificant in nature’s grand scheme, but I was content with my small role in boosting insect populations. Plus, there were hundreds of other people who bought plants for their yards from the festival. If enough of us make a small contribution, it will add up to a meaningful change. I was proud I didn’t cave and buy generic plants from a big chain store. Instead, I supported a friend, I supported the insects, and I took a step towards restoring nature to what it should be.
