Blog

Sustainability

We were in Phoenix a week ago, spending time at the world-renowned Desert Botanical Garden. The desert plants were in bloom, giving an entirely different feeling to what is usually an austere sight. While we strolled the paths, hummingbirds soared the skies above us, occasionally swooping down to stop and have a sip of nectar from a wildflower and then zooming away. Even though I logically knew I was much further south In Phoenix than at home and that the timing of seasons is slightly different, seeing so many hummingbirds in late March surprised me.

At the beginning of every year, I spend countless hours reading and researching the newest trends in outdoor living. Usually, as I read through my array of resources, I see a huge variety of suggestions for luscious new additions to and modification of outdoor spaces. Each source often has their own take on what are the leading trends of the year. This year was different. Instead of an assortment of vastly different ideas, there seemed to be a common thread running through the vast majority of articles I read. The overall theme for 2025 outdoor living trends seemed to focus on creating a personal connection to nature that permeates your daily life. 

After discovering so many new varieties of milkweed, my newest obsession for the spring season is to start a butterfly garden in my front yard that features a variety of milkweed plants. I think that it would not only be a great stopover site for migratory monarchs but would also nurture dozens of other pollinators as well. As an added bonus, it will blend perfectly with the “little patch of prairie” we put in a few years ago. 

Last Saturday, I spent the afternoon reading picture books with my granddaughters. One we read was called  Home Is Calling by Katherine Pryor,  about the migration patterns of monarch butterflies. (It’s a beautiful book filled with gorgeous illustrations and factual information woven together in lilting prose. The teacher in me was impressed!) Ironically, the very next day I happened upon a report from the World Wildlife Fund in Mexico stating that the eastern monarch population in central Mexico has nearly doubled this year, occupying twice as much forest land as last year. According to researchers' estimates, that means that approximately 28 million monarch butterflies are currently overwintering on about four acres of forest. (A number to celebrate, but nowhere near numbers from the late 90s when butterflies covered over 45 acres of forest.) While the number of butterflies in Mexico may not seem pertinent to us here in the United States, it actually is encouraging news for us too. It could be a sign that we can still save this iconic species from extinction  –  if we understand them and purposely work to help them..

Yesterday, while I was browsing the web, I ran across a relatively obscure article that started me on an unexpected tangent. The headline read: California’s monarch butterfly population plummets; fire wipes out Topanga habitat. The destruction of a prime butterfly habitat, to me, just added another victim to the life-changing tragedy that so many Californians have suffered. 

My “outdoorsman” son-in-law asked for a book on foraging for Christmas. Since my perception of foraging is tramping through the woods looking for either mushrooms or other obscure, supposedly edible plants, I didn’t really give much thought to the book. Until today, that is, while I was reading an article about the top new landscape design ideas for 2025. There it was… number 2 on the list: Hunt-and-Gather Foraging Gardens:  A Feast for All Ages.  Now I wish I had at least leafed through that guide.

A few years ago my husband and I took a short vacation in Arizona. While we were there, I fell in love with the desert and with desert-inspired landscapes. Rather than seeing a barren wasteland of rock and sand, which is what my preconceived notion was, I saw a place filled with unexpected beauty and an overwhelming sense of tranquility. Life seemed totally in balance there, taking and giving in equal measures. Earlier this year we talked about going back there to tour the Desert Botanical Garden in Phoenix before the hard winter set in, but we just didn’t make it. Snowmaggedon hit first and trapped us here. 

We have a nearby neighbor whom we affectionately call “Blower Man.”  We don’t actually know him – he lives directly across the quarry from us – but we definitely know when he’s outside doing yard work. The deafening sound of his enormous leaf blower drones on hour after hour, often chasing us inside until he finishes. As annoying as it is to be sent into retreat mode on a picture-perfect fall day, I find it heartbreaking to think about the environmental impacts of stripping a property bare of every fallen leaf. Autumn leaves are, I believe, Mother Nature's gift to the earth.