An outpost of hope

These past weeks I've been totally absorbed in research, site analysis, and site preparation of my back yard as I decide how to create several forest gardens there.

As part of this process, I've taken out trees in the "front 40" on the east side of the house to clear a sunny space for fruit trees, berry bushes, and hazelnuts; I've identified areas for potential development and marked out the flooded low areas from this year's snow melt to guide planting decisions; I've made spreadsheets of what trees and bushes I want to plant where, with soil, water, and light requirements; I've taken a stab at writing down what I want the end result of all this effort to be; and I've eaten and slept with volumes 1 & 2 of The Edible Forest Garden by Dave Jacke as I try to get my head around all the possibilities. At times I felt as if my head would explode.

My biggest challenge has been how to transform the back yard into a forest garden without losing its park-like, unmanaged feel. The thought of turning this semi-wild place into a formal cultivated garden for purely human purposes makes me cringe like nails on a chalk board. I fell in love with this location because of the creek and woods and native (and yes, invasive) plants all make me feel like I'm camping even though I'm looking out my back window. On some level I fear that anything I do might detract from this wonderful environment and sully it so it loses some of its un-interferred with natural appeal.

And yet that's what I must do, at least to part of this place, if I am to grow food here. Success for me would be to somehow integrate human intervention into this natural setting so that the forest garden that rises up slow-motion from the earth will eventually look just as natural and inevitable as what's growing here now. I make my interference with humility and apologetic awe. I don't really know what I'm doing, but what I create whether well or badly will be here for many, many years to come. Because I have been here with my consuming vision of what could be, the world the will be different.

Yet perhaps not so different. Nature will continue to take its course, and whatever I do may not have much of an impact in the long run as natural forces sort through which of my efforts to keep or discard. My hope is that whatever happens, this land might become an outpost of hope as the new edible plant seeds and cuttings make their way around the neighborhood, hand to hand, a living bastion against food insecurity in a world that's quickly falling apart.

Pretty big intentions when I haven't planted anything yet! But I can dream, and it's dreams that make the world.