It's not too late

Could you use some good news? Here’s some: last Thanksgiving the population of Western monarch butterflies counted in California increased by over 100-fold, from fewer than 2,000 butterflies counted in 2020 to 247,237 in 2021. 

 

Monarchs roosting for the winter

That’s not full recovery. Some experts estimate we’ve lost 80 percent of monarchs in 20 years. But it’s nice to know how resilient these butterflies can be.

    Western monarchs are genetically indistinguishable from the Eastern kind. It’s just that monarchs that live west of the Rockies overwinter in California and migrate to the Northwest for the summer. The ones that live east of the Rockies overwinter in central Mexico in the Monarch Butterfly Biosphere Reserve. Around this time of year, as the weather warms, they start their flight to Texas.

 

During the spring three or more successive generations of monarchs journey through the Southeast to the northern states and southern Canada where they spend the summer. Then in August and September another new generation starts to flutter all the way back to Mexico, a journey that takes up to two months (this Google Earth video illustrates it all). 

    Migration is necessary because monarchs can’t survive northern winters. In the mild, humid winter climate of Mexico’s Sierra Madre mountains, they roost in oyamel fir trees (here’s another fascinating video), packing together to stay warm. 

     With this successful life cycle evolved over the millennia, why did the monarchs suddenly start to disappear? The first obvious culprit was glyphosate (Roundup) sprayed on agricultural fields. Glyphosate use surged in the 1990s with the introduction of genetically modified Roundup Ready crops that resist the herbicide spray while it kills the weeds around them. 

Monarch caterpillars need to eat milkweed to survive. Milkweed toxins ingested by monarchs make them poisonous to predators but don't hurt the monarchs.

     Some of those weeds/wildflowers are native milkweeds. Monarchs need to lay their eggs on milkweeds to reproduce. Instead of finding milkweeds offering nectar and forage for their caterpillars alongside every field, the migrating butterflies now had to cross vast milkweed deserts in agricultural regions of the U.S.

Eastern native swamp milkweed is easy to grow and provides a lifeline for monarchs

     A recent meta-analysis by a team at Michigan State University, using data from thousands of volunteer monarch counts, found that glyphosate, habitat loss, and climate change have all contributed to the monarchs’ decline. In recent years, hotter weather in their northern range seems to have been a major factor.

     When we hear that climate change is the reason that species are dying out, it can sound hopeless. We’re not moving fast enough to save ourselves; how are we going to save the monarchs? But as the scientists point out, when migrating monarchs are stressed by high temperatures, that’s when they especially need lots of milkweeds and other native flowers for nectar along their path so they can stop off and refuel or lay eggs.

 

Migrating monarchs need other flowers too for energy from nectar

 
     The surge in Western monarchs shows that the monarch population has the capacity to rebound suddenly and dramatically. And the fact that thousands of human well-wishers are already helping encourages me too. This year let’s redouble our efforts to plant for native insects, and let’s be sure to include milkweeds in the mix.

 

Common milkweed is another good choice. It's a spreader.

 

Leave the leaves

What used to be a far-out, novel idea is now joining the mainstream: “Leave the leaves.” To support biodiversity and especially to provide protection for native insects, gardeners are changing our fall routine. For the past three years, I’ve been letting whole leaves lie on my garden beds.  

 

Whole leaves work as mulch

    This change allows me to do a lot less work. I used to spend many hours in late October and early November raking leaves to a spot at the back of the house where I could plug in my leaf shredder. I’d feed as many leaves as possible into the machine--basically a string trimmer in a drum—to make shredded leaf mulch for my perennials. 

 

Leaf shredder: effective but labor intensive

Now I just gather leaves from the driveway, the sidewalk, and the roadway along our block, rake them onto a tarp, and drag the tarp into the backyard. There I dump the leaves on whatever bed seems to need a blanket of mulch. 

    The concept behind this time-saving approach is that lots of native insects overwinter in fallen leaves, whether as eggs, larvae, nymphs, or adult insects. When I chop up leaves in the shredder, I’m chopping up those insects, reducing next year’s population of native insects in my yard. That’s working against myself, because I need a balanced population of leaf eaters, pollinators, and beneficial insects—the predators that keep leaf eaters in check—to keep my garden ecosystem healthy.

 

I want to host beneficials like this lacewing

 
    While environmentalists and proponents of sustainable gardening advocate for leaving the leaves, I’m disappointed to notice that some of my favorite garden writers are pushing back. I’ve read warnings that a cold-season mat of whole leaves will damage turf grass. Yes, we all knew that! Another worry is that perennials won’t thrive under a blanket of leaves. The thought is that plants from Mediterranean climates may need breathing room and a drier environment.

    All I can say is that these commentators must be gardening very differently than I do. Most of what used to be turf grass in our yard is now covered with wood chips that have no trouble accommodating a layer of fall leaves. And my perennials are ones that have proven tough enough to survive the conditions in the yard—sandy soil, rabbits, varying degrees of shade, humid summers with periods of drought and, increasingly, cold snaps in winter without snow cover for protection. If perennials needed pampering, they’ve long since died out in my garden.

 

Lavender toughs it out in the garden without special treatment

 
    Given my limited perennial-growing ambitions, I’ve had no trouble with leaving the leaves. Increasing numbers of birds visiting the yard suggest we’ve got more native insects than we used to.

    In spring I do like to peel back the matted leaves from the newest perennial bed off the back deck. It’s quick work to dump them in the wheelbarrow and move them to the compost piles. If I’ve got some dry fall leaves in bags in the garage, I’ll shred them at that time to replace the mulch I’m taking away. Moderation in all things.

Dwarf crested iris, another survivor

 
 

Rolling with the punches

With rainfall in Massachusetts staying about three inches below average for the year, gardeners are bracing for another summer drought. It’s worrying, but I’m impressed with how some of my established perennials are holding up.

A clematis is blooming well despite dry weather

    We often read that new plants need regular watering while they settle in. After the first season or two, they’ve established networks of roots and recruited fungal helpers (mycorrhizae) to collect water from the soil. When I started my garden, I wasn’t thinking about choosing drought tolerant plants. Now I try to avoid native perennials whose native habitat is described as a moist streamside. But some are more adaptable than you might expect. 

    Two areas of established plants look surprisingly lush despite the dry weather. Off the back deck, yarrow (Achillea ‘Coronation Gold’) is covered with flat yellow flowers. Nearby a bushy St. John’s wort (Hypericum ‘Universe’) is opening yellow blooms. A sneezeweed (Helenium ‘Short ‘n Sassy’) is coming into its own this year, putting out lots of foliage and numerous buds that promise an excellent display.

 

Bright yarrow blooms suit hot, dry weather

 

     In the insectary bed swamp milkweed (Asclepias incarnata) and ox-eye sunflower (Heliopsis helianthoides) are going great guns. This is an area of the fenced vegetable plot that I’ve devoted to planting for native insects. I call it an insectary bed instead of a pollinator garden, because it’s intended to benefit not just pollinators but also leaf-eaters and beneficial insects (the predators that keep the herbivores in check). 

    Swamp milkweed sounds like one of those moisture-lovers. Indeed, it grows naturally in wet meadows. But it’s doing fine for me in a rather dry situation. I like to think it’s providing larval food for migrating monarch butterflies. Another milkweed, butterfly weed (Asclepias tuberosa) is having a very good year in the same bed. That one took years to establish itself, but now it’s unfazed by the sparse rainfall. Common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca) is taking hold there too.

 

Swamp milkweed

    I’ve tried for years to grow common sunflowers (Helianthus annuus), but something always eats the seedlings before their stems get woody enough to support big flower heads. Ox-eye sunflower, which comes from a different genus, seems to have no problem coping with dry conditions. Instead of plate-sized sunflowers, I’ve got multiple yellow flowers attracting lots of insects.

 

Ox-eye sunflower attracts native insects

    I’ve been trying to establish some Joe Pye weed (Eutrochium spp.). These are billed as moisture lovers. One I planted last year had completely died back by the end of the summer after lackadaisical watering, and I wrote it off as a failure. This spring, though, it sent up new growth and seems to be thriving. I planted a group of Joe Pye weeds in a low-lying area where I hope they’ll benefit from water pooling when it rains. That’s a transitory event in our yard because our sandy soil drains rapidly. So far they’re bulking up surprisingly, considering that they’re regularly trampled by romping dogs.

 

Lavender and alyssum thrive in dry summer weather

    With dogs charging around the yard and rainfall infrequent, it’s nice to see some perennials rising to the challenge.

Mulch reconsidered

 “Don’t mulch.” That was the surprising advice from native insect expert Heather Holm. What? That was a recommendation I’d never heard before. Heather’s webinar, “Attracting Bees and Beneficial Insects with Native Plants,” described the life cycles and needs of important native pollinators. Many build nests in the ground, she explained, and they need access to bare soil.

Tawny mining bee nest-photo Andrena Fulva 2d

 
    For years I’ve mulched my garden liberally. It started with an unsuccessful plan to use whole leaves to improve soil in the front yard. When they wouldn’t stay put, I invested in a leaf shredder that chopped the leaves into small pieces that didn’t blow around. Soon I was shredding all our fall leaves to spread on planting beds.

Shredded leaves make useful mulch

 
    I never had enough shredded leaves for everything I wanted to mulch, though, so I also brought in bark mulch from the garden center. In the last five years I’ve stopped using bark mulch and switched to arborist wood chips. 

     This idea came from Linda Chalker Scott, an author and urban horticulturist at the University of Washington who subjects conventional garden practices to objective scientific review. She compared different kinds of mulch head to head and found that the wood chips make superior mulch. They’re tops for holding water in the soil, modulating soil temperature, and suppressing weeds. They promote a health diverse population of soil organisms because they’re made up of a mix of different kinds of tree tissue.

 

Wood chip mulch is nice on paths and around trees and shrubs

    Wood chips fit in with my goal of reducing my garden’s carbon footprint by using locally sourced material. I get them from an arborist who works in the neighborhood.

    Now I’m re-examining my mulch approach because I want to help out native insects. What Heather advised against was bark mulch. She recommended shredded leaves, so I’m OK there. Apparently the insects don’t have a problem pushing their way through leaves to reach the soil, whereas a waxy crust of bark mulch foils them.

    Even better, Heather said, is a landscape where low-growing plants knit together on the garden floor. These plants perform the functions of mulch, and they can also provide food and shelter for native pollinators and beneficial insects (the carnivores that keep leaf-eaters in check).

 

Sweet woodruff has spread more than I'd like, but it does cover the garden floor

    Much of my garden is already provided with a groundcover layer. Two of the major players are sweet woodruff (Galium odoratum) and Canadian wild ginger (Asarum canadense). Between them they cover a lot of shady areas. There’s still not much growing under the shade of evergreens around the perimeter of the yard. This year I’m trying out native wild strawberry (Fragaria virginiana), which spreads by runners. I’m hoping it can survive and spread where other groundcovers haven’t. 

 

Wild strawberry, a native groundcover option

    Meanwhile, there are a lot more wood chips in the yard than ever before. They’ve taken the place of the lawn. Since we joined three adjoining yards to let our dogs play together, happy dogs racing around have worn away almost all the lawn grass. Instead of mud, we’re going with wood chips. I’m hoping the nesting insects will cope.

 

Lawn replaced with wood chips

August flowers and their visitors

 Another week, another reminder that nature isn’t as simple as we think. I was going to write about pollination syndromes, suites of flower traits that supposedly evolved to attract and accommodate the right pollinators.

 

Meadow rue

    This idea originated in the 1870s when Italian botanist Federico Delpino observed that certain types of flowers attracted particular kinds of pollinating animals—white sweet-scented night-opening flowers for moths, tubular red flowers for birds, musty-smelling flowers for bats. As the science of evolutionary biology developed during the 20th century, these observations developed into a theory supporting convergent evolution.

 

Fennel

     To explain why diverse, geographically separated plant species developed similar flower shapes, evolutionary biologists pointed to selective pressures from the groups of animals that pollinated those flowers. A plant that needed to attract pollinating bees, for example, would develop flowers that accommodate bees, whether the plant species grew in South Africa or New England.

 

Flat phlox flowers are convenient for bees

 
     This sounds right, and it’s nice to think of plant and animal species co-evolving to cooperate. More recent research hasn’t completely borne it out, though. A 2009 study of plants from six regions around the world showed that most flowers didn’t fit into the classical pollinator syndromes. Researchers also couldn’t predict the pollinators that would visit a flower based on the flower’s morphology. Some plants bank on attracting just one kind of pollinator, but many more are pollinated by a range of animals. Less exclusivity gives a plant population a more reliable chance to reproduce, even if one pollinator species has a bad year, or a bad decade.

 

Tubular flower of hummingbird sage

    Oh well, never mind. It’s still pretty amazing to zero in on the variety of flower shapes blooming in the garden now, despite the heat and drought. A lot of the flowers I’ve chosen recently for pollinators’ sake are daisy-shaped. In this group there are black-eyed Susans (Rudbeckia hirta), oxeye sunflowers (Heliopsis helianthoides), purple coneflowers (Echinacea purpurea), and zinnias (Zinnia elegans). 

 

Like others in the Aster family, oxeye sunflower has daisy-shaped blooms

     I observe these flowers attracting lots of bees and also some butterflies. They offer efficient foraging, because each daisy-shaped bloom is a composite of many tiny flowers, each offering nectar and pollen.

     But that’s hardly the only flower shape around. There are the flat umbels of fennel (Foeniculum vulgare), the spikes of spearmint (Mentha spicata), the prickly balls of globe thistle (Echinops bannaticus), the narrow tubes of hummingbird sage (Salvia guaranitica) and trumpet honeysuckle (Lonicera sempervirens), and the curved stems of goldenrod (Solidago spp.), which hold arrays of miniature daisy-shaped flowers.

 

Globe thistle

     Each of these flower shapes caters to a different group of pollinators. The hummingbird visiting the honeysuckle is at the large and dramatic end of the scale. More flowers in the garden are visited by diminutive native bees small enough to find the nectar in tiny flowers. The blooms offer nectar for a price, forcing pollinators to brush against pollen and carry it along. As a bee dips into the minuscule flowers of a coneflower’s central disc, it carries pollen from one to the next, enabling them to set seed.

 

A bee pollinates a purple coneflower

 

Live and let live

This month Bayer agreed to pay $10 billion to people who’ve developed cancer after using Monsanto’s herbicide Roundup. Bayer plans to continue selling Roundup and still insists that it’s safe to use. The record settlement suggests otherwise. And there’s a huge environmental drawback to Roundup that doesn’t get enough attention: loss of biodiversity.

    The active ingredient in Roundup is glyphosate, which blocks the action of an enzyme that allows plants to make a necessary amino acid. 

Roundup at Home Depot

Roundup has been around since 1974, but it became a huge moneymaker in 1996 after Monsanto introduced Roundup Ready crops. These are patented genetically modified plants in which the target enzyme isn’t affected by glyphosate. More than 90 percent of US soybeans are now grown from these genetically modified seeds. Roundup is so ubiquitous that super-weeds have developed resistance to glyphosate.

Soybean field, Pennsylvania-photo Jakec

    When my garden was young, I remember being taught that while other herbicides might be dangerous, Roundup was perfectly safe. The idea was that it breaks down so fast that residues in plants and soil wouldn’t be a problem (not true).

    The most important reason to avoid Roundup, I think, is that spraying weed-killer in yards or on agricultural fields eliminates a huge reservoir of native plants—the weeds—that native insects depend on. A good example is the loss of common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca) that monarch butterfly larvae depend on. With widespread Roundup spraying, monarch populations have plummeted. 

Monarch nectaring on common milkweed

     Full disclosure: I once tried spraying Roundup when I saw the notoriously aggressive groundcover goutweed (Aegopodium podagraria) spreading around plants I’d received from a friend’s garden. 

Goutweed can easily get out of control

I planned the Roundup application for a sunny fall day. It took me two hours, because I was so fearful. I put on old clothes and sneakers, disposable gloves, goggles and a mask. 

 

I wished I had this much protection when spraying Roundup

I covered the surrounding plants over a radius of at least a yard with rags, then I carefully sprayed Roundup, trying my best to wet only the goutweed foliage. Then I had to remove the rags and protective gear and throw my clothes into the washer.

     Was it worth it? Not at all. The goutweed never missed a beat. Perhaps I’d applied Roundup too late in the season when the plants had stopped growing. The next spring, I weeded the goutweed out of the bed, taking extra care to dig out its slender roots. It never reappeared.

     As nonnative invasive plants became a focus of concern, Roundup was touted as a solution. Painting Roundup on cut stems of bad actors like Japanese knotweed (Polygonum cuspidatum) is still recommended. That’s understandable, because the plants are virtually immortal. I tried it once with no effect. The knotweed sprouted again the next spring. For my purposes, the benefits of Roundup definitely don’t outweigh the risks. Now I prefer the idea of hiring a flock of goats to eat knotweed thickets.

A goat clearing invasive plants at Travis Air Force Base-U.S. Air Force Photo by Heide Couch

 
     If we had a functioning federal government, it would ban glyphosate as well as neonicotinoid insecticides. Us against them isn’t a sustainable way to think about natural systems.

Striking a balance

There’s a tension built into welcoming native insects. I want to host native leaf-eaters, because they’re the base of the food web for the garden ecosystem. They turn the sun’s energy, embodied in plant tissues through photosynthesis, into food for carnivorous animals, including birds and beneficial insects such as ladybugs. But unchecked, they can also defoliate plants and cause an unsightly mess.

Ladybug eating an aphid

    Worldwide, herbivorous insects make up 37 percent of all animal species. If you’re like me, you don’t spot most of them at work. A leaf-eater has to be big and unmissable, like a Japanese beetle (Popillia japonica) or a tomato hornworm (Manduca quinquemaculata), for me to notice it. But although I don’t see them, they’re out there chewing.

Japanese beetle

    In a healthy garden ecosystem, their population is controlled by predators, including birds, reptiles, amphibians, small mammals, and especially other insects. That’s a reason to avoid pesticides. If I kill their prey, insect predators won’t stay in my yard.

     Problems happen when a nonnative insect with no local predators enters the system. In Japan, for example, Japanese beetles aren’t a problem. When they came to North America in 1916, they left behind the insect predators that kept their numbers under control. Nice for the beetles; less pleasant for rosarians. This story repeats with increasing frequency as global trade expands. In my area, we’re seeing native hemlocks (Tsuga canadensis) devastated by hemlock woolly adelgid (Adelges tsugae), another inadvertently imported nonnative insect.

Adelgid egg cases on a hemlock twig

     I’m trying to keep leaf-eater populations in balance by supporting a broad range of insects in the garden. I tolerate some leaf damage and hope it won’t become too obvious. Research into what’s termed “aesthetic tolerance” indicates that 10 percent of the leaves in a yard can be chewed before the average gardener even notices. 

     This spring as hosta leaves poke up and unfurl in shady spots, I’m noticing that several seem to emerge with notches or tears in the leaf margins. Did some insect get to them as they developed underground, or is this just a result of careless steps before their location showed? To me, the hosta leaves are still glorious. I don’t think I’ll be bothered by a few flaws.

Hosta leaves will still be dramatic with a few holes

     Theoretically, native plants should be even more attractive to native herbivorous insects than imports such as hostas. That was certainly my experience when I planted a native maple leaf viburnum (Viburnum acerifolium) in view of the window over the kitchen sink. Within a few weeks, I saw it completely defoliated. 

I’d chosen to add this shrub to the back of a bed to provide food and shelter for native insects. Well, they’d certainly made use of it. I decided to consider this a victory. Interestingly, that shrub was never stripped by hungry insects again. It seems to have settled into its niche, sustaining a few chewed leaves but thriving. So far, that seems to be typical.

Maple leaf viburnum-photo

Joshua Mayer

Putting the toothpaste back in the tube

At a time when we’re wondering whether what’s broken can ever be fixed, it’s nice to hear some good news about planting for pollinators. A team of scientists in Munich recently published results of their study of urban flower strips, 1,000-square-meter wildflower gardens planted in the city as part of the European Union’s initiative to improve foraging opportunities for bees and other flower-visiting insects. They found these plantings surprisingly effective.

Urban flower strip, Fockenstinstrasse, Munich

    The team undertook their study when the flower strips, sown with a mix of locally native flowering plants, were only a year old. They hypothesized that these mini-meadows would draw mostly bees that are common in Munich and can gather pollen from a broad range of flowers. They didn’t expect these beds to be much of a resource for oligolectic bees, ones that need food from a few native plants. They got a surprise. 

Dogwood andrena bee specializes on dogwood flowers-photo Beatriz Moisset

    In the first year, 61 percent of the bee species known to live in Munich found the flower strips. Most were the common polylectic types, the bees that aren’t picky foragers. But the proportion of specialist  bees that needed particular flowers was nearly the same as in Munich's general insect population. They also found that the urban flower strips increased bee populations in surrounding areas, as far as 1500 meters away.

European dark bee-photo SJ Richards

    By the way, were any bees killed in the process? I was glad to hear that this was a catch and release program. The scientists swept the air with insect nets, put the bees on ice for 10 minutes, and when the bees entered “cold rigor,” they measured and photographed them on site. Within two to three minutes, when the bees had warmed up and awakened, they released them to continue foraging.

    As I prepare to plant native perennials to attract pollinators, this study gives me confidence that my efforts can be effective. Germany’s situation is a lot like ours. The scientists noted that Germany had lost about 10 percent of its meadows between 1991 and 2019. We too are losing open space at a great rate, estimated by the US Forest Service at 6,000 acres every day, or 4 acres per minute. 

Goldenrod provides insect forage in a Maine meadow

     What’s left may be so altered by human activity that it doesn’t offer much of what native insects need. We know that insect populations are plunging. Our government lags behind the European Union’s in addressing this. That’s why there’s such an urgent need for home gardeners to plant for flower-visiting insects.

Pollinator garden at the Smithsonian's National Museum of Natural History

    But can we really replace the rich biodiversity of what’s lost?  I worry that my small effort will offer too little too late. This study suggests that our pollinator gardens can make a meaningful contribution toward rehabilitating impoverished landscapes. I’m hoping my new bed of native pollinator plants will be attractive and full of insect life. It would be nice if it also drew not just the toughest survivors, but also the insect species that need the most help.

Spotted beebalm in my pollinator bed should support native insects-photo Judy Gallagher

Another reason to keep garden waste at home

A new book that came in the mail, The Pollinator Victory Garden by Kim Eierman, made me glad that I'd started a brush pile this fall. Until recently, I couldn’t picture a suitable spot for this amenity in my third-of-an-acre suburban lot.

    The ecological reason to cultivate a brush pile is to provide wildlife habitat. Kim Eierman’s book focuses on insects, so she recommends brush piles as shelter for bees. She points out that 30 percent of North America’s 4,000 native bees are cavity nesters. They need safe small spaces where they’re sheltered from the rain. Some find cavities that birds or other insects have made in dead trees, stumps or fallen logs.

Carpenter bees are cavity nesters-photo Anita Gould

    Other than wood chip mulch, there’s a shortage of dead wood on the ground in our yard, due to my previous habit of cleaning up at soil level. I now realize that’s unnecessary and eliminates potential habitat for creatures I want in the garden. I’m allowing dead tree limbs to lie on the ground in inconspicuous spots, but it’ll be a while before they soften and rot.

This downed tree in a local conservation area offers shelter for native insects

    The brush pile I’ve started intends to serve a dual purpose: containing our over-enthusiastic puppy and offering shelter for wildlife. Eager to play together, our Lola and Ruby, the dog next door, discovered spots where they could dig under the wooden fence between their yards. 

"Who, me?"

They applied themselves with energy. I went to work reinforcing our perimeter with wire fencing held down with bricks, paving stones, and any big rocks I could find. 

    There was a vulnerable space between two wire compost bins and the new chain link fence that joins the wooden fence line. I blocked off this corner with more wire fencing. In addition to foiling a homegrown prison break, the narrow, enclosed space now houses my new brush pile. As I build up the pile, I plan to add bundles of twigs tied with twine to keep insect nests dry.

Starting the brush pile with pine branches that came down in a heavy wind

    Cavity-nesting bees also find spaces inside plant stems. I’m already accommodating them by letting stalks stand through the winter. We’ve got elderberry, raspberry, and hydrangea bushes, so I’m glad to hear that their pithy stems make particularly good nesting spots.

Spongy stems of oak leaf hydrangea can be excavated by bees to make nests

    I love the idea of an insect hotel. That’s a human-made collection of promising nesting material, such as bunches of hollow stalks tightly packed together, clumps of dry leaves, cut lengths of bamboo stakes, ceramic blocks with small cavities built in, and tree branches or chunks of lumber with holes drilled for convenient insect access. 

This is an insect hotel in Germany. Cool, right?

The thing about this approach, though, is that the cavities need periodic cleaning. I’m not sure I can be counted on to clean an insect hotel on a regular schedule. For now, I’m letting nature do the work.

    After reading the first chapter of Kim’s book, I can already tell it’s going to up my game. While I wait to put Kim’s advice into practice next spring, I’ll be throwing fallen branches on the brush pile instead of filling yard waste bags.