Tags
coexistence, community, diversity, ecology, gardening, meadow, nature, succession, urban meadows
This is my first ever post request, so let’s see if I can do it justice. Donna, over at Garden Walk, Garden Talk, has brought up the topic of ‘urban meadows’ and what they mean for pollinators and other communities of insects.
She asked me for the perspective of a biologist on whether or not urban meadows can actually be considered meadows, so for better or for worse, here is one biologist’s opinion. (She has discussed this topic eloquently and at length, so if you want a more thorough treatment of the subject, please visit her post. I won’t attempt to be as complete.)
The biological definition of a meadow is not a simple one. It is, generally, a large aggregation of herbaceous (non-woody) plants comprising many species. The “non-woody” distinction here is crucial because of succession. There is nothing in the definition of ‘meadow’ that requires it to contain nothing but native species. In fact, meadows are often extremely weedy. And, by the way, meadows often contain a lot of grass, so eliminating grass is also not a requirement of a meadow.
Succession is an oversimplification of the dynamic processes which lead to ecosystem change. All ecosystems are dynamic, full of species competing for limiting resources. The inherent variation between species, and within the heterogeneous landscape that they coexist in, leads to progressive changes in community structure over time, or succession.
The “natural progression” of ecosystems is supposedly (starting from nothing but resources) early pioneers (that colonize, grow, and reproduce quickly) to late successional species (that compete well, but colonize, grow, and reproduce slowly). In other words, a steady progression from some hypothetical “blank” landscape to a meadow comprising grasses and herbaceous things (flowering annuals and perennials, for example) to a forest.
You may be wondering whether I have lost the thread of the discussion entirely when comparing urban meadows in the yards of suburbia to wild meadows and fields, but I promise that I am going somewhere with this.
My point is this: change. Wild, unmanaged ecosystems are dynamic and constantly changing. A natural meadow (and I use “natural” in the loosest sense here, given the pervasive influence of anthropogenic forces on even the wildest of meadows, the inherent presence of introduced and invasive species in any field) will change over time. There will be a constant flux of species from one year to the next, and over the course of the year, and depending on the amount of rain.
In stark contrast, someone’s garden meadow will remain static. They have in mind the individual, the plant, surrounded by bricks, lovingly tended, for years. That plant never competes for light or nutrients, never lacks for water even in the driest of summers.
“Here,” a gardener says, “Are my hydrangeas, here are my bee balms…” and so on and so forth. A garden is a work of art. In the hands of a painter like Donna, it is all detail and careful brushstrokes, colour complementarity and aesthetics.
Mother Nature is a messy gardener. She throws handfuls of seeds to the wind, crossing her fingers that some will survive. She waters them fitfully (and then too much), fertilizes them unreliably, does not account for the acidity of the soil. If Mother Nature is an artist, she is an abstract one, who covers herself in paint and rolls around on a blank canvas, nude.
There is no homogeneity, no stability in nature.
What does this mean for pollinators, or for insects in general? A few things. One is that the the heterogeneity of ecosystems, and the stochasticity inherent in environmental variables (like weather) are part of what allows for diversity. Heterogeneity contributes to the coexistence of multiple competing species. If it were not for disturbance, meadows would transform into forests, and few species (say Chestnut Oaks, Moosewood, and Black Birch) would dominate.
The profound and unnatural stability of gardens lends itself as well to the dominance of few insect species, those that are well-adapted to take advantage of the resources within the garden.
The implications of this are that, yes, suburban gardens provide resources for pollinators, and yes, they can contribute significantly to the populations of those pollinators which visit garden plants, but no, they cannot replace natural meadows. Thus, the diversity that we see in gardens will always be a subset of the full potential diversity of a natural area, and something will be lost.
Usually, it is something not well known, uncommon or rare species. You might ask, what is their value?
The answer is, we don’t know. Are you willing to find out by losing them? If not, plant urban gardens to protect those common species that we adore, and protect those natural areas for the unknown and the unknowable services they provide.
Comparing an urban meadow to a wild one is like comparing apples to oranges. Apples are so domestic. They are the reliable and sweet component of our baked goods, teas, and pies. Oranges, on the other hand, are bright, sassy, and untameable: better left raw. In my opinion, we need both to be happy.
I hope that does justice to the topic…
Sincerely yours,
standing







Thank you so much for your perspective on this issue. I always feel as if by planting certain plants, I am disrupting something else. Inevitable it seems, as meadows are ever changing ecosystems and plants, insects and wildlife come and go. You are so correct in that gardens, such as my front yard having some native plants, really does limit the insect visitors to certain common species. I find so much diversity at the farm, in fields that are left fallow for say, fifteen years and the opportunistic plants start to populate. In this length of time, the understory trees seed and grow. The meadow ecosystem becomes something entirely different. Thanks too for the definition in your own words. I can readily see why it is difficult to define conclusively.
I think the trouble is that we have an idea of what is “good” and what is “bad” and when we try to force nature to configure to those ideas, we are losing something that we don’t completely understand yet.
Great piece. Your comment about the instability of wild meadows reminds me of a quote by Heraclitus, that “the only constant in nature is change itself.”
Thank you! That is a great quote. I think the dynamics of nature are compelling and confounding at the same time.
Well stated.
Thank you, Greg.
Thank you for explaining the difference between a wild meadow and a natural garden. I guess I always assumed that even a relatively wild garden full of natives could not have as many species of insect as an uncultivated field, the two things really can’t be compared. Now I have a better understanding of why that is. A more reasonable comparison is between a natural-style garden with natives and another urban environment, say a manicured lawn. Relative to that environment, a natural garden I would think would have more insect and other life.
You are 100% right!
I read this with interest, as I have both — a tended half acre garden and a wild messy weedy acre beyond that wants to change into something else. A remnant forest surrounds both. Each area is richer because of the others — visually, and now I know biologically. You describe so well what that means, and how the pollinators use different areas.
I agree! Having both is certainly better than having only one or the other. Thank you so much for the kind words.
I followed Donna’s link here. Thanks for a most insightful and interesting treatment of her question. Years ago I read an article by a man who toiled endlessly to keep his garden tidy and weed free. After several years of this, he came to this startling conclusion (a direct quote): “Nature ABHORS a garden.” I often think of this as I do battle with weeds in my own garden. While I am carefully choosing plants and tending to their needs (by limiting invasive competition), Mother Nature is deliberately scattering weed seeds. She has never met vegetation she doesn’t like!
So true! I think the bias is in humans and how we define a weed. It is anything we don’t *want*. Many of the ornamentals we plant in our gardens are not native, and yet we do not consider them weeds. An interesting conundrum.
Excellent article, a good reminder that as gardeners yes, we can encourage and support wildlife, but we can never take over the role of the wild spaces in our landscapes. All the more reason for us to protect them – and perhaps allow ourselves to be less precious about how we plant out gardens. I have noticed a trend towards an almost purist “only plant natives” attitude amongst some gardeners. I can’t save an entire species, insect or floral, in my little garden, but I can take the needs of wildlife into account as I choose my plants, which is different.
Thank you! Providing resources is always valuable to one group of species or another. Gardens have definitely been proven to provide critical resources for many species!
Great article…I’m so glad I found both of your blogs. I particularly like your comparison of mother nature to an artists…hahahaha! Maybe we should re-name our gardens to “meadow-inspired”…seems more appropriate. It seems funny that the one thing that really sets a meadow apart, change, is one thing that many gardeners fight against…constantly striving to preserver order.
There you have it in a nutshell! We fight very hard against the “natural” progression of time.
Two books I’ve recently read really delve into the notion of wildness and gardens. The first is an old and a good one: Second Nature: A Gardener’s Education by Michael Pollan. The second is Rambunctious Garden: Saving Nature in a Post-wild world, by Emma Marris. Both really helped me flesh out a lot of the ideas found in this post.
Those sound great! I will add them to my reading list. Thanks for the recommendations.
Pingback: Blogiversary « standingoutinmyfield