Tending Hope: Gardening as Climate Stewardship
For as far back as she could remember, Anna had loved gardening. It was a connection to her childhood. At first, it was something nostalgic for her that she began to do after college, but soon it became her escape from long days at her corporate job in the evenings after work. She loved to check on her plants in the cool summer mornings, coffee mug in one hand as she patrolled the flower borders before heading off to work.
It was because of her love for the plants that she noticed the nuance that exists in a garden. The small changes in each plant as they begin to shift with the seasons, such as her tomatoes setting the best fruit just after a heat wave, or that her ornamental grasses never grew as tall directly adjacent to her neighbor’s rose bush.
Then she began to notice other changes too. Her favorite variety of peas wouldn’t set fruit as late each summer as they used to. Four of the Douglas fir trees in her neighbor’s yard died at the same time one July, and had to be taken down by an arborist. Olive trees became ubiquitous at her local garden centers when they hadn’t been available in previous years. She knew that the climate patterns from year to year could shift, but she began to think that these changes were a sign of real multi-year trends—those Douglas firs were more than 75 years old—and it was alarming.
Conifers afflicted with disease. Photo courtesy of Phillip Farris
She also noticed that sometimes, no matter how hard she tried to use native plants for her yard, there were some areas where she couldn’t get anything to grow. It was frustrating. What Anna had begun to notice is the same thing many observant plant people have been seeing in the Pacific Northwest in recent decades—that our growing conditions are not the same as they have been historically.
Our gardens are a mirror of both us and the times we live in. In the 17th century French renaissance, manicured lawns and ornate topiary signaled a cultural shift towards flamboyant control of the natural world. During World War Two, Americans were encouraged to grow victory gardens as a means of self-reliance, so market gardening techniques proliferated the urban and rural landscape. And today, gardeners are racing to find ways to support their local ecology. These efforts are beginning to gain traction, seen through the popularity of naturalistic design styles as a re-emerging trend in contemporary landscape design.
Despite the overwhelming challenges inherent in our shifting climate, and the feeling that the causes of those changes are outside our control, our gardens have the power to be both a refuge from the discomfort of that reality and a means of impacting the world around us in a positive way. Our gardens are both mirrors and tools. They show us what’s changing and offer us ways to respond.
Climate Creep
Anecdotal observations might be one thing. But in 2023 the United States Department of Agriculture (USDA) officially updated its ‘Plant Hardiness Zones’ map. When they did, it reflected an average 2.5°F degree Fahrenheit shift in temperatures across growing regions. It had only been 11 years since the last update.
Here in the Southern Willamette Valley, we were reclassified from zone 8b to a combined zone 8b & 9a, which is half a step towards the next warmest zone. This official reclassification affirmed what Anna, and many others, had already begun to notice. But it’s not just about temperature zones. It’s about what those shifts are doing to the plants we rely on. For some of our hallmark pacific northwest plant species, this reclassification simply reflects the reality they face. Take the Douglas fir tree (Pseudotsuga menziesii). The map of its native range stretches from British Columbia and temperate parts of Alaska all the way west of the Cascades down into northern California. The shifting growing regions mean that the southern edge of its range is steadily creeping north. This data reflects what local experts are also observing.
While writing this piece, I spoke with arborist Max Vuylsteke about the phenomenon. Max owns Maxwell Tree Care, and specializes in preservation techniques that help the urban canopy. “Douglas firs aren’t the only tree species we are seeing in decline in our area,” he told me. “Port Orford Cedars are starting to die more and more too, the biggest cause is a soil-borne mold called Phytophthora.” He pointed out a tall conifer at the end of the road, the top third of its canopy brown and lifeless. Phytophthora can be spread by humans, and has been proliferating in recent years in part because of changing seasonal trends.
Typically, native plants are viewed as well-adapted to survive in their historical native range, because they have co-evolved to thrive in those specific conditions. Doug firs are native to our area, so this change we are seeing in their growing range (and their subsequent die-off) is a sign that our local climate conditions are changing faster than they can adapt.
The Case for Us to Adapt
But it isn’t just macro-climate shifts that affect plants. The micro-climate of our yards and immediate neighborhood play an outsized role in what will thrive. Most of us are gardening in an urban or suburban context, meaning that we deal with challenges that are driven by our built environment. These are constraints such as the reflective heat from buildings and hardscapes, or narrow, windy sites that from a plant’s perspective are more similar to a cliff crevice than the valley floor. Anyone who has tried to redesign a yard in a new subdivision knows all too well the frustration of dealing with the severe soil compaction caused by construction equipment. Just because a plant is historically native to the area where we live does not immediately make it suitable to thrive in these unique conditions.
A front yard meadow. Photo courtesy of Phillip Farris
I spoke with Becca Wages, a local ecological horticulturalist and self-described native plant lover (she even works part time at a native plant nursery) about this challenge, who had this to say:
“I hesitate to criticize or speak counter to the native plant movement because I believe passionately that more native plants are critical to insect and bird habitats in our area. However, as a designer and experimenter of plants, I find that the transference of native plants to urban settings is not always successful. Oak meadows and conifer forest areas are the most common ecosystems for Lane County, yet an urban landscape does not behave the same way as an open field or a forested environment. The biggest barrier I see is the heat reflection that occurs with buildings, sidewalks, fences, and vehicles. Plants that thrive even in full sun in an oak meadow or stream bank environment can’t tolerate the extreme reflected heat that occurs in the urban landscape. A solution to this that can still provide support to insects and bird habitat would be to pull ecologically beneficial plants from nearby ecoregions that fit more closely with habitat features created by the urban environment. Examples might include dry prairie plants, chaparral (shrubland) plants, or plants from rockier and mountainous regions that could still provide significant pollinator habitat, ground cover, and possible mycorrhizal communities while being tolerant of the extreme temperature and water changes that occur in the urban landscape.”
Becca’s description of the solution to this challenge rings true and reflects my own experience creating successful plant designs. Many well-intentioned people can get hung up on the label of “native” versus “non-native” plant, and it can sometimes hinder their ability to create a thriving plant community. If site context is important and should inform our selection of the plant palette, should we think beyond native plants?
The problems facing our gardens are as nuanced as the land itself. While many people seek black-and-white answers, nature rarely offers them. That complexity can feel overwhelming—but it’s also what makes gardening so powerful.
Adaptation in Action
We are witnessing real-time shifts in growing conditions, while also trying to grow on sites that don’t resemble anything close to what have been here historically. The act of gardening, and immersing ourselves in the natural world is also just as potent a cure for our emotional maladies as it ever has been. Yet it’s still possible to have a positive impact on our ecology and grow a thriving urban ecosystem.
Many garden designers are looking to hardy plants from other regions when curating a plant palette that can withstand more extreme conditions. Plants adapted to different microclimates (even just from the Cascades or Siskiyous) can offer solutions to difficult site conditions in an urban context.
When making design choices in your own yard, there are a few key guidelines to consider:
First, consider the context of your yard before deciding what to plant. What are the site conditions like? Is it exposed to extra hot afternoon sun or deep midday shade? Does it sit in a low area that is slow to dry out each spring? By making observations of what your yard is subjected to throughout the year, you’ll be able to make much better plant choices.
Second, consider Willamette Valley native or North American native plants first that fit the site profile you’ve discovered. Please avoid buying plants that are invasive or are aggressive growers that might outcompete your other beneficial plants (think Creeping Jenny, Ajuga, Butterfly Bush).
Lastly, think of all the plants in your yard as a community. Making the right individual plant choice is good, but our goal should be to curate a group of plants that perform well together as a cohort.
It took me years of failed attempts to learn the importance of these three simple guidelines. By implementing them, you’ll experience much more success and begin to make tangible beneficial changes in your own yard and neighborhood.
Final Thoughts
Remember Anna? She didn’t stop gardening. She began planting native Sidalcea and Camas alongside Rudbeckia from southern Oregon and Rocky Mountain Penstemons. What began as a nostalgic pastime became her quiet form of activism—one that echoed down her street. She discovered that it is possible to recharge the groundwater with stormwater from her roof and driveway, to create havens for wildlife & pollinators and throw a little shade on the urban heat island.
Climate-conscious plantings. Photo courtesy of Phillip Farris
Large scale habitat restoration is a wonderful tool for managing a watershed, a prairie or a forest. But most of us live in towns and neighborhoods, and have the ability to impact the small patches of land that surround our homes. The changes one person can have on a residential yard can really move the ecological needle, and help create a positive ecological ripple effect.
But more than that, the spaces we steward don’t just heal the land: they touch everyone who walks past. They will impact your neighbors when they pause to appreciate something new blooming in your yard. Your garden will bring you respite from a long day at work or a chance to redirect your fussy toddler. Our plants offer an immersive learning experience to people of all ages, and they mark seasonal time for us in a way that nothing else can. Improving our environment is reason enough to roll up our sleeves and get our hands dirty, but when we understand how it impacts our neighbors, our communities, and ourselves, it becomes a responsibility.
When we heal the land, we heal ourselves.
Phillip Farris helps homeowners connect their landscape projects with the ecological realities of where we live as the Eugene Garden Coach. To learn more about what he does and how he can help you create climate-resilient gardens using naturalistic design, visit his website at https://www.eugenegardencoach.com