Coyote brush is a tough, scrappy survivor, often overlooked and under appreciated.
Every forest is a graveyard.
So far all the plants have survived with the exception of the island morning glory dug up by my co-gardener, Rocky the dog. Even the native grasses he ate grew back fine.
So plant a few natives in the yard and call it a day, eh? I wish.
“In a few months the wonderful flowery vegetation is in full bloom and by the end of May it is dead and dry and crisp, as if every plant had been roasted in an oven.” –John Muir
We native gardeners are a noble bunch, but we do have a dark side…
Like many young environmentalists, things were black and white. Wilderness – good. Civilization – bad. Humankind and Nature were separate entities. But they aren’t.
Gardeners are a strange lot. We’re control freaks recreating the Garden of Eden.
Every spring I saw bugs looking like giant mosquitoes, mistaken as real mosquitoes by many.
For fast and efficient destruction of a garden nothing beats a dog