"I love seeing plants like this growing wild in their native habitat," I gushed.
"Mom," Lindsey said. "Have you ever seen any other yucca tree around here? They might grow in southern Nevada, but not in this country. Even if they did, this one didn't grow wild - don't you see the tracks where somebody backed a pick-up to plant it? Besides, Mother Nature doesn't use a board on the side opposite the prevailing wind to keep a tree from blowing over."
Oh, how much sharper than a serpent's tooth is an intelligent child.
We went closer to investigate.
I picked up some seed envelopes lying next to the yucca. Hoping to redeem myself, I said, "Well, at least the flowers they planted are native. This package is lupines, and the other is a wildflower mix. Lupines and wildflowers DO grow wild around here."
Lindsey gently removed the package from my hand and sighed. "Some kinds of lupines are native here. But these are Russell's lupines, and not only are they not native, they are thirsty plants. If some kindly rain lets them sprout, they won't live long."
I could see I was losing ground. I had hoped she'd admit the wildflowers were native, but nothing doing.
"See the brand name on this package of wildflowers?" she said. "They market those nationally. These seeds are probably several generations from being truly wild, and they almost certainly didn't grow wild in this part of Nevada. They're probably from back east somewhere."
I hate when Lindsey rolls her eyes at me. I hate even worse when I actually deserve it.
Lindsey did make me wonder just exactly what made a plant qualify as native. So I did some checking. The USDA Natural Resources Conservation Service specifies that a native plant is "a plant that is a part of the balance of nature that has developed over hundreds or thousands of years in a particular region or ecosystem," and specifies that "The word native should always be used with a geographic qualifier," giving "New England" as an example.
Years ago I found a definition of "native plants" that almost amounted to a prescription for using them. The source advised that the plant should be from no more than 10 or 20 miles away. Mind, that did not mean that if blue flax occurred in nature somewhere within that distance, you were then authorized to go out and buy a packet of blue flax seed at the local Walmart. Potential landscapers were advised to collect seeds from their locale (responsibly, of course), and germinate and grow them themselves.
The thinking is that by selecting only those plants, you help preserve the flora of a particular place, which is quite often in need of preservation. Those plants will thrive in that location, theoretically at least, without modifications to soil or supplemental water once the plants are established.
Although I admire the idea of scrounging the neighborhood for plants, I've had a hard time putting it into practice. For one thing, many desert plants are slow growing, especially if they aren't watered, and I want to complete my landscape before I die. I'm impatient like that.
For another, the 20-mile radius doesn't make sense in a vertical state like Nevada. The mountains and canyons behind my house represent radically different growing conditions than I have in my yard.
When I can, I'll use plants native to the Great Basin. When I can't, I'll be happy with any plants that behave well in our climate. And if I have any questions, I'll ask Lindsey. She knows.
When Teresa Howell isn't annoying her daughter, she teaches English at Great Basin College.
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