Eastern black swallowtail emerges from its chrysalis on a fennel pant from my garden

Eastern black swallowtail emerges from its chrysalis on a fennel plant.

Last week, I headed to Denver to speak at Plant Select Day at Denver Botanic Gardens. My talk, “Design By Nature,” explored gardens as natural communities that can provide crucial habitat for beleaguered species of pollinators–birds, butterflies, native bees and others–and in the doing, bring us the joy of experiencing nature in our daily lives.

Biologists say that pollinators’ partnerships with plants play a part in providing one in three mouthfuls that we eat and drink. Yet many pollinators are in trouble: Colony Collapse Disorder is decimating European honeybee colonies, whole species of native bees like bumblebees are vanishing, monarch butterfly populations are in peril, hummingbird populations are experiencing drastic fluctuations.

What can we do to ensure a healthy food supply and the future of the birds, butterflies, and other species that brighten our lives and weave the global community that sustains this planet? Two of the biggest factors affecting pollinator populations are habitat loss and pesticide use.

Who needs a lawn when you can have a wildflower-studded prairie?

Who needs a lawn when you can have a wildflower-studded prairie?

We have the habitat–right at home in our yards, pubic parks and golf courses, farms, orchards and other managed landscapes. Lawns occupy some 40 million acres of the United States and are some of the unhealthiest habitat around.

If we devote a portion of our lawn area to wildscapes, gardens that use native and regionally adapted plant species in designs that mimic natural habitat, imagine the difference we’d make for birds, butterflies, bees and other pollinators. (And the water, money and energy we’d save.)

Biologists who study native bee populations say that an 8-foot- by 10-foot patch planted with bee-friendly plants without pesticides is enough to make a significant difference for these inoffensive and hard-working pollinators.

White-lined sphinx moth nectaring at Rocky Mountain penstemon in a local park.

White-lined sphinx moth nectaring at Rocky Mountain penstemon in a local park.

The two keys to providing effective habitat are design and health. Habitat design involves using plants pollinators will recognize and be able to use, and mimicking the “architecture”–the structure and scale of natural habitat. If the natural habitat is woodland, design a woodland garden, using shade and layers of plants similar to a natural woodland. If it’s prairie, design a prairie garden; if it’s desert, a desert garden and so on.

A healthy garden relies on the relationships between plants and their various partners to control “pest” populations, not on harmful synthetic chemicals.

In my high-desert garden, for instance, grasshopper outbreaks are an issue. I don’t reach for poisons: I provide a bluebird nest box. When the mountain bluebirds are in residence, they chow down on grasshopper nymphs to feed their hungry young. Urban house sparrows make a pretty good substitute for bluebirds; they’re not as graceful or beautiful, but they do eat grasshoppers. (Grasshopper nymphs are very nutritious, and in the mornings at my elevation, they’re apparently cold, slow and easy to catch!)

Habitat Hero logo with rufous hummingbird

Habitat Hero logo with rufous hummingbird

My “Design By Nature” talk was part of the launch of the Habitat Hero project I’m working on for Audubon Rockies and the Terra Foundation. (For now, the project is focused on Colorado and Wyoming. The principles work anywhere though: design by nature, creating habitat that mimics what is natural in your area, use native and regionally adapted plants and eschew synthetic chemicals.)

The wildscape at Cherookee Generating Station, a coal-fired power plant in industrial northwest Denver.

The wildscape at Cherokee Generating Station, a coal-fired power plant in industrial northwest Denver.

Habitat Heroes are, in the words of the project’s founder, Terra Board Member and passionate gardener Connie Holsinger, “Optimists–people who believe that the things they do can have positive impacts on the world around them.”

Habitat Heroes garden in a way that nurtures pollinators and other wildlife and restores healthy garden communities–along with our connection with nature right at home. The project sprouted late last winter and taking off much more quickly than we imagined.

We all want to leave our patch of ground in better shape than we found it. We can do that, garden by garden. All it takes is soil, plants, and a willingness to learn from nature as we go.

That’s what the Habitat Hero project is about. Join us to make a positive change in the garden–and the world.

The first page of the two-page current issue

The first page of the two-page current issue

I send out a “News from Sus[an]” newsletter by email every so often with updates on my writing, teaching and life in general. I try to put them out quarterly, but sometimes circumstances intervene, hence the gap between the January issue and the eLetter I just finished yesterday. (If you want to be on my eNewsletter list, send me an email and I’ll subscribe you. If you are and don’t, just let me know, and I’ll remove you.)

I don’t usually put the newsletter up on my website, but it’s occurred to me that I should. So here it is. Click on that link (or the one in the previous paragraph) and you should get the PDF, either downloaded or opening in a new window.

The eNewsletter is two pages long with images, it totals half a megabite and may take a few moments to load. Just be patient.

Which is great advice for life in general, and advice I’ve certainly been taking to heart since the universe in the form of three different injuries smacked me upside the head (literally, the last injury was to my face–with my own car door) and reminded me to slow down. No matter how fast life swirls around me, I’m determined to pause, take deep breaths, and not move faster than suits me.

You can see the long, curving laminate counter with the galvanized edge and the two sinks on that wall, right? You can't? I almost can....

You can see the long, curving laminate counter with the galvanized edge and the two sinks on that wall, right? You can’t? Not to worry. It’s coming soon….

It seems to be working. As I just told my Dad, despite glitches in permitting for the front-entry deck of my new house and the fact that the master bathroom in this house is still not done, and that I’ve had to set the memoir aside this week to prepare a talk for the Plant Select program at Denver Botanic Gardens on Thursday, I’m enjoying myself.

I’m enjoying finish work, even though it’s hard, the learning curve is steep, and it doesn’t always go smoothly. It’s going well, and I’m proud of my work. That makes it satisfying.

I’m enjoying building the new house, even though the glitches in permitting my front deck have meant a lot of scrambling around to get forms filed and then a lot of back-and-forth about possible solutions.

Downtown Salida and the Arkansas Hills seen from the future deck off my bedroom.

Downtown Salida and the Arkansas Hills seen from the future deck off my bedroom.

It’s still not clear what’s going to happen, but I have faith that my builder and designer and I will work with the city to figure out a solution that is aesthetically pleasing, environmentally friendly and allows an accessible house. It’s hard not to enjoy a house that’s as sweet as my new one is, even though it’s still at the gangly studs and wiring stage. Look at that view out my bedroom door….

(Yes, you have to imagine the deck at door-sill height. It’ll appear in time.)

I’m even enjoying working on the talk and accompanying digital presentation because, hey, it’s about gardening in a way that restores habitat for wildlife and leaves a patch of ground in better shape than you found it–inspiring stuff.

The truth is, I feel pretty fortunate. Yes, I have a house to finish. But it’s a beautiful house. I’m doing work my late love would appreciate, and that makes me feel closer to him.

Yes, I have two construction projects going at once, something I tried to avoid. But the new house makes me smile every time I set foot in it.

Needle-and-thread grass (in foreground) and sidebells penstemon (lavender spikes) blooming in my front yard grassland

Needle-and-thread grass (in foreground) and sidebells penstemon (lavender spikes behind the pot) blooming in my front-yard native mountain prairie.

And yes, the landscape I love is still in a drought and the larger world is full of war and pain and global climate change. But it’s also full of love and light and hope.

The sidebells penstemon and needle-and-thread grass are blooming in my yard. A black-headed grosbeak was warbling down by the creek this morning. It’s the end of spring, summer is coming in a rush, and I’m alive.

That last alone makes me very fortunate. Walking with Richard through death from brain cancer taught us both to love life. All of it. That’s a lesson I hope to never forget.