A theme in my writing is the difficulty in choosing a course of action when the possibilities seem overwhelming. How to choose plants and take advantage of processes already occurring? What helps when trying to slow down and enjoy the process and deal with problems like garden pests? Beginners are no doubt looking for immediate solutions and actions to be taken for quick results, while I dance around the topic without providing answers. It's astounding that anyone reads my blog at all.
I constantly reiterate that the proper actions vary from person to person and site to site. Site doesn't just refer to geographical areas of similar climate, or even different properties. On the farm, which is small at 23 acres, there are many sites, each with its own characteristics. We've given many parts of the farm their own names. For example, it's much quicker to say “the Back Forty” than “that little area at the far front of the property that borders that awful R.V. park and where all those box elders are growing.” The nicely mulched and meandering path that descends to the frog ponds and the horse pasture is the “Highway to Heaven.” Also there are the Orchard, the Savanna, and the Ravine. The paddocks have very specific names including Paddocks A, B, and C, plus the Swale, the Sacrifice, and the Tree Museum. Not only does it make for more efficient conversation, but having special names for specific spots highlights the fact that each area is treated differently.
One very important consideration in the location of farm features, the distance from one's main living space, is illustrated by the concept of zones in permaculture. The basic premise of zone design is that areas typically visited daily are located close to the house, and those infrequently visited are farther away. Chickens constantly needing food, water, and egg collection would be housed close to the home. Fruit trees needing only intermittent care could be planted farther away. This common sense system maximizes efficiency in daily tasks, but decisions regarding placement of elements can be stymied by geographical features. What if the only flat, sunny spot suitable for veggie growing entails a long, steep hike to the top of a hill?
Zone design seems straightforward until reality intrudes. It may seem simple to draw concentric circles on a piece of paper and create a plan on it, but in real life situations it's necessary to work within the confines of geography. Our parcel is a patchwork of bottomland, terraces, and steep hillsides facing every which way, with many immutable features such as the house, barn, driveway, and river. There are many factors to consider on the farm besides distance from the house, including slope and aspect (for example north-facing versus south), the presence of mature trees that cast shade, distance from the river and frequency of flooding, and proximity to neighbors’ properties and the diplomatic relations inherent to borders. The great variety of sites on the farm means there are no hard and fast rules that are always followed. I mow here but not there; remove trees in the flower bed, but not the Savanna; encourage violets in the lawn and attempt eradication in the potager. Everything is relative to each location, and the specific characteristics embedded therein.
How does understanding this ambiguity help the novice make decisions? Abandoning the search for the right solution is liberating and allows one to discover the best practice for a particular spot. Let's consider the situation mentioned above: The only sunny spot is at a distance and up a hill from the house. Should the trees around the house be cut down to allow for a Zone 1 vegetable garden. Considerations when making such a decision include the urgency of growing veg for food and the value of the trees for shade, windbreaks, soil stabilization, and wildlife habitat. Are the tree weedy invasives prone to toppling in storms, or ancient oaks? Will the lack of a vegetable garden mean times of hunger or merely the inconvenience of a few extra trips to a supermarket? Could firewood or tree fruit be bartered for veggies from neighbors in a sunnier locale? Such questions and best answered by those living day-to-day on the site with their own particular needs and capabilities.
What about mowing? I’m referring to what is done with a lawn mower, not making hay, which is a totally different application. The application of herbicides and synthetic fertilizers makes the American lawn ecologically disastrous, and while lawn mowers use fossil fuels and compact soil, they are useful tools. Getting rid of lawns is all the rage right now with social media filled with memes exposing their evil nature. Indeed, mowing a vast expanse of turf grass weekly during the growing season is an expensive exercise in pointlessness, since the end result is exactly what you started with. On the farm we mow extensively, but to achieve different results and with an eye on a future in which the need to do so diminishes each year. We mow walking paths through the Savanna to maintain routes of easy walking as the forest slowly takes over. Strategic mowing of grazing paddocks helps to keep undesirable plants in check, and improve pasture. The door yard and edges of Zone 1 are kept short to keep poison ivy and ticks at bay. Mowing the yard regularly actually preserves the violets, spring beauties, plantain, and chickweed that many find so desirable for their edible, ornamental, and medicinal properties.
For us, ceasing to mow would mean a yard full of Japanese honeysuckle and euonymous fortunei, and later pioneer tree species as the land tries to become woods. A planned transition to an environmentally friendly alternative such as a pocket prairie or wildflower meadow, or a yard of clover or thyme, can present a surprising amount of work to create and maintain, and not be the panacea many believe it to be. Mowing can purportedly mimic the grazing of herbivores that is necessary to maintain prairies in nature, but I've never tried this because it seems like an awful lot of work. I’m content with my natural lawn.
Weed or plant? This question always gives me a chuckle, because weeds are obviously plants, but I know what is meant: “Should said plant of unknown identity be removed or left to grow?” This is the thorniest of inquiries since everyone will have a strong opinion, while not necessarily considering the relativity of the situation. (Luckily that's my forte!) On the farm the location of the plant is the deciding factor. Violets are removed in the veggie garden, but left in the lawn. Tree seedlings are removed from the lawn, but left in the Savanna. Some bush honeysuckle and autumn olive are removed in the Savanna, others aren't because there isn't time to accomplish this enormous task all at once. Aggressive mint is removed from the potager, but left in other ornamental beds to outcompete weeds. I could go on, but readers no doubt get the idea that everything is relative. Acknowledge this fact and get to know your site, and you'll be on your way to good decision making.