Thinking about climate change today, as I often do, and remembering what I wrote a few years back. We are past the point of stopping change completely, but right now, we can still shape the new world to come.
And I don’t even mean “we” in the big huge global sense of interconnected humanity (although that’s a huge driver.) I mean you and I, individuals. This is a threshold. It won’t last forever. But one determined individual right now can help define what species come with us.
Gardening is a hopeful practical discipline. You hope that this thing you planted grows, and you know that hope isn’t enough, so you do your best to help it. Gardening is full of stories of one seed, one plant, surviving, because of one individual being fiercely determined.
My garden is big, as home gardens go, and minuscule as the world goes. Over the years, at a conservative estimate, it’s been home to well over a thousand cricket frogs. They’re tiny, they’re common in the south, they don’t need much.
They’re also vanishing in the northern parts of their range, at a guess because of road salt melting into the vernal pools they need to breed in. Every garden where they breed is a bastion against that loss.
If you or I can make a home for them—and it really doesn’t take much at all, they are exceedingly easy neighbors—we can bring them into this future world with us.
Doesn’t have to be frogs, either. Could be a rare chicken breed or a tree or a bean.
And if you’re stuck somewhere where you feel like you’re too divorced from nature to be able to help directly, I’ll point you to @NativeSeedsSRCH’s Adopt-A-Crop fundraiser running right now. They grow out plants that are down to minuscule numbers. support.nativeseeds.org/campaign/adopt…
One year I remember they had only sixteen seeds left of a bean that had been grown for centuries by native people. But thanks to people like this, we get to bring those plants into the future with us.
The metaphor I come back to time and again is suitcases. We are packing for the future world. And right now, at this moment in time, we can stuff our suitcases with frogs and caterpillars and ancient grains and pint-sized sheep, with endangered rose mallows and rare orchids.
The future is coming for us. We get to decide what comes with us to meet it.
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Okay, to my mild surprise, plenty of y’all do want to hear about Salvias, aka THE BEST PLANT GENUS aka my personal horticultural obsession.
Salvia (no, no saliva) is a branch of the mighty Menthae clan, thus putting it on a footing with mints, catmints, Agastache, bee balm, etc. It is one of the very largest genuses, with over 900 species.
So last Memorial Day had a big appliance sale, of course, and since our dryer has been broken since last August, we splurged and got a new washer/dryer with all the fancy bells and whistles.
Width is standardized. We did not, however, think to measure for depth.
These are sufficiently deeper than the last set that we had to take the little folding doors off the laundry alcove.
Now, the top surface of the washing machine (we have front loaders) fills inevitably with cleaning supplies, lint, random things extracted from pockets before washing, etc. It is known.
Now, I have no beef with moles. They eat grubs, they don’t eat plants, and the minor annoyance of having to stamp down my walkway pavers which have been heaved up by tunneling is, honestly, pretty minor.
But.
Where there is a mole tunnel, there is often an opportunistic vole coming in to chow down on plants. And more importantly, it drives Hound bonkers and she will dig for them, causing untold havoc. We lost one mole and two hostas to this last winter.
Still, I’m really kinda thrilled the dirt is loose enough now for a mole to come along. I started on grim Carolina clay, the kind they make literal bricks out of, so this is a nice mild nuisance to have.
Many moons ago, the first job I worked out of college was at Prudential Insurance, reading claim forms for a class action lawsuit. There were literally hundreds of thousands of twenty-page handwritten answers scanned into the computers.
How did the insurance agent defraud you? What exactly did he say? How do you feel about it?
We would then grade them from 0-3 based on how defrauded they were and Prudential would give them a paid-up insurance policy.
It was there that I learned firsthand that corporate America is completely batshit. For example, Prudential (Pru) needed to show the auditors they were getting cases out the door, so they required everyone to complete 18 cases a week.
Among the many projects I will never get to is one titled “Loris in Wonderland.”
“Mary Anne!” the White Rabbit shouted, flecks of spittle flying from behind his enormous teeth. “Mary Anne, where are my gloves and my fan?!”
The loris’s name was not Mary Anne.
The cake read EAT ME and the bottle read DRINK ME, but lorises are functionally illiterate (except for one particularly insufferable cousin who had been to Oxford and would not stop talking about it) so the loris ignored both.