With all of the controversy in Sheffield over fenced-in fields for cultivating marijuana, it seems like an ideal moment to reassess Robert Frost’s belief that good fences make good neighbors. And while I have plenty of opinions about whether or not I want to drive by fields surrounded by high security fences behind which a controlled substance is being grown, the fence I would like to examine at the present is my own. My house is in the center of Ashley Falls and its dog-legged acreage abuts a dozen houses throughout the historic district. My predecessors had put up a cedar fence to define the boundaries, but ever since my old dog Fred chased a bear through a section a few years back, I have been slowly taking it down and clearing the area around it of invasives and brush, as well as some haggard-looking Bradford pears. This coming week, one of the remaining sections between me and my neighbor to the east is coming down – a joint project with the owner of the other house and we are working together to make sense of a way to fencelessly demarcate our property line.
Like Frost, I am curious about what makes for a good neighbor, but I question who is the better neighbor: one who sets boundaries or one who understands the fluidity of the landscape and the surrounding ecosystem. Thinking about this has led me to think differently about how I approach my property. Shared views and transparency are certainly politically di rigueur in the present moment, but I think they also serve an environmental purpose. The bear that traversed my garden that Fred chased off passes through on his way from one wooded area to the next, as does a red fox and her litter of mewling babies. Providing a corridor for wildlife wasn’t my primary goal when I first became a gardener, but now I see my garden as a “Habitat for Non-Humanity” as much as for my own enjoyment. The sighting of a pileated woodpecker pecking away at the snag of an old tree last Friday was as exciting to me as the opening of a woodland peony that I had grown from seed.
But when it comes to human cohabitants, a little privacy has its advantages, so it seems to me the best approach to setting boundaries is to create something that allows the flow of wildlife and a modicum of privacy. Planting the edges of the property, whether in traditional hedgerows or lines of privet would be one option, but why not take the opportunity to enrich the habitat and diversity of the property? I will leave some lilacs and a few other plants that already exist, but I am excited to add in some eastern red cedars, some native winterberries, some evergreen holly, and a few woodies that provide some deciduous privacy (privacy out back during the winter seems less of an issue than in midsummer). I hope that each addition helps support my non-human neighbors while giving their human counterparts something pretty to look at. The list of plants keeps growing, and bottlebrush and red buckeye, bayberry, fringe trees and serviceberries, and some native viburnums will hopefully be planted in the months to come. I will leave some room for a few nonnatives that I love as well, such as the Asian form of fringe tree that is counterpart to the native one, as I have never been much of a purist, but I hope the balance will help give local fauna more of what it needs.
And as the fence comes down, I am hedging my bets that this will all make me a better neighbor.
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A gardener grows through observation, experimentation, and learning from the failures, triumphs, and hard work of oneself and others. In this sense, all gardeners are self-taught, while at the same time intrinsically connected to a tradition and a community that finds satisfaction through working the soil and sharing experiences with one another. This column explores those relationships and how we learn about the world around us from plants and our fellow gardeners.
