Five years ago, I had no interest (and no experience) in gardening. Sure, plants were beautiful. And the insects and wildlife they attracted were cute. But I never saw myself as a gardener.
Buying a house changed all that.
It was almost a blank canvas. Some old plants came with the land.
A large succulent in the front---the name escapes me---that attracted the dreaded lubber grasshoppers.
A large, unkempt and uncontrolled Brazilian peppertree plant invading the back, plotting to take over the entire yard.
A hedge of dwarf yaupon hollies, which I regrettably removed.
And a few miscellaneous shrubs that don’t particularly deserve a mention.
All taken out, except a single standing palm tree in the front.
The first batch of purchased plants didn’t survive. Two Japanese privets. A snowbush (which did well at first and spread too aggressively in the upcoming years). Two sloppy-painter crotons. A silver buttonwood. And undoubtedly a few more that I’m not remembering.
The right planting location, the right sunshine requirements, the right amount of water, and the right way to fight plant diseases were all foreign to me.
Somewhere along the way, I bought 2 crepe myrtles---a Tonto and a Ruffle Red---and they took off. Then a few Indian hawthorns; hardy, evergreen, low-maintenance, and trusted foundation and layering plants.
From there, the creative path forged itself. Mango trees and avocados and sugar apples. Miracle berry bushes. Curry trees. Acerola cherries. Dwarf firebushes. Chaste trees. Landscape-friendly palm trees for a tropical feel. More and more Indian hawthorns and crepe myrtles.
But something was missing.
Yes, the garden was coming to life, but not enough.
I wanted more honeybees and birds and butterflies to come and appreciate the world I was creating for them.
And that’s when native gardening came into my life.
Plants I had never even heard of, sold only at local nurseries around town, helped create an ecosystem for native insects and wildlife.
Gumbo limbo trees and teabushes and Bahama strongbarks.
Native holly trees and oaks.
Spanish and Simpson stoppers.
The list goes on.
Five years later and the jungle keeps growing. What started as a few plants has turned into 450 (think I’ll stop at 500).
The work is hard, but meaningful.
Healing.
During brief moments of rest, between weeding and mulching and watering and fertilizing and pruning, you can see the true flow of Nature.
A blue jay lands on the fine, young branches of the Bahama strongbark tree.
Honeybees and beneficial wasps swarming over teabush flowers, completely addicted to the nectar and pollen.
Native butterflies searching for host plants to lay their eggs (still working on improving this).
A mockingbird, screeching in the distance, annoyed at one of the squirrels for getting too close.
A light breeze picks up and the leaves dance and shake playfully, long enough for the bees to lift off and land right back onto the flowers.
All working together without overthinking. Just mindful and present and living a slow and purposeful life, just like Nature intended.