Heaven is a forest: An intro
Embarking on a years-long attempt to transform a bare rectangle of turf grass into a shady oasis.
On the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend — early in the gardening season — I sat for a very long time in my beloved hanging chair, just staring (it would have appeared to any onlooker) into space. I was actually staring at my own future tiny forest, using my active imagination to sketch its eventual self on top of the current (decidedly non-forest) view from my seat. I had spent the morning setting up my driveway potager — tell you about that shortly — after a very hectic couple of weeks, and was in need of some forest therapy. Even in its state at the time, my fledgling forest obliged.
I live in a very small house on a small lot, in a small town in the Hudson Valley (NY). It’s a rural area — rolling, bountiful farmland with easy access to the lush Catskill Mountains and all sorts of rivers and forests. Even in town, our neighborhood is full of little front yards where the grass has been replaced with overstuffed pollinator gardens, spilling over the sidewalks and curbs. But our lot, when we bought it a couple years ago, was as ecologically void as could be: just a rectangle of dense turf grass, interrupted by the house, a detached garage, shed, and a whole lot of asphalt, ringed by a chain link fence. There was a handful of tightly sheared boxwoods and barberries lined up symmetrically across the front of the little house, with a pair of matching rose bushes tucked behind, but other than that, nada. Not a speck of shade, shelter or sustenance for humans or other creatures. Even the grass had been poisoned into weedless “perfection” by the previous owner (mindset from another era) meaning there wasn’t so much as a dandelion or clover for a bee to find in the backyard.
When we first bought the place, I could think only of getting the house in order. The sheer blankness of the outdoor space, however small it was, was too much to contemplate. There was no question I would eventually start planting, but ... what. There were so many hurdles and barriers — physical and mental — until one day they literally started to come down. And by then I had decided what I wanted the space to be.
Seeking inspiration | Getting a feel for the scale of the space
We chose this house and town for lots of reasons, chief among them walkability. I would love a cabin in the woods — because for me, heaven is a forest — but living in non-walkable places in recent years clarified that, for me, walkability is sanity. However, having a house in town doesn’t mean we can’t make our own tiny forest.
I’ve just barely begun, but where there was literally nothing, there are now already copious birds and bees and bunnies, and even the occasional butterfly. Having never seen a chipmunk outside of the northeastern woods before, I now have them running around my garden, behaving exactly like storybook creatures. This little dead zone is coming alive — rejoining the ecosystem — and I’m eager to document it. Like any garden, it will take time and patience; there will be triumphs and failures, lessons learned, things planted and moved. It will be years before it really takes shape. But I’ll be here documenting every awkward stage along the way. And you’re invited to ponder and imagine along with me as it does.
A FEW NOTES ABOUT ME AND THIS BLOG:
• I am not a gardening professional or expert, just an avid gardener. This is my fourth time making a garden but first time in a place where there’s winter to consider. So basically, a beginner.
• I am a writer, photographer and designer of various things, and I don’t believe in or use generative AI for any purpose. Every photo and word presented here as mine is, in fact, mine.
• I do believe in gardening with native plants as much as possible, but I’m also a plant lover and I make some allowances, within reason.
• I am an opinionated person and enjoy stating my opinions plainly. I also enjoy other people’s opinions and differences of opinion, and think that our differences are what makes the world an interesting place. Please understand if I say I like something, it doesn’t mean I think you should, and same if I dislike something. I’ll be me and I hope you’ll be you!
Speaking of which, I’d love to hear from you here—
Karen Templer
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