Stewards of the Land

The town I live in, Medfield, had several incarnations before it was a suburb of Boston. It was, however briefly, the straw hat capital of the world. It was an artists’ colony. It played a small but pivotal role in the King Philip War. Mostly, though, until the 20^th Century, Medfield was a farming community.

You can see Pine Street in this 1858
map of Medfield.  What would become
our home is the orange dot. Double-
click for a full-page image.

The winding road on which I now live can be seen on maps dating back well into the 19^th Century.  An ‘aerial view’ of the town from 1888 shows farm fields and a swamp.  Sometime before 1940, a modest single-family home rose on the site and two families raised children in it.  Then, about 25 years ago, it became home to an invalid.  The acre-and-a-half around the house reverted to pines and, unfortunately, opportunistic invasive species.

The front part of the property circa
2014.  Somewhere under there was
a house and sterile land

When Betty and I saw the property for the first time in April 2014, the first thing we noticed was a 50-foot-long sweep of black swallowwort; one of the nastiest introductions into New England of the past decade.  Several specimens of euonymous alatus – burning bush – towered more than ten feet and no less noxious offspring were all over the property, including the wetlands that comprised the back two-thirds of the parcel.

My strongest memory of that first walkaround, though, was the complete absence of sound.  There were no birds, no frogs, nothing.  The land had gone sterile.

We designed a house to respect
the wetlands behind us

Last month we began our fourth year as stewards of that acre and a half we now call home.  In some ways we’ve accomplished a lot; in others, we have so far to go.

Beginning in September 2014, we removed some 40 pines.  All were over 60 feet in height with growth only at their very tips.  The invasive plants and shrubs were ripped out of the ground. Except for a few remaining maples, oaks, and pines, we were left with a blank slate upon which to create a house and landscape. 

Pulling up the trees also
pulled up tons of rock

The following spring we began planting a dozen specimen trees – all natives – and, except for a concolor fir, all flowering.  We added native shrubs (itea, fothergilla, high-bush blueberry), then ground covers (ferns, wild strawberries, and heuchera).  We also allowed in a few ‘friendly aliens’ such as hosta and bulbs.  We continued the planting last year, adding still more trees, shrubs, and too many perennials to keep count.

Has it made a difference?  An inch and a half of rain fell the other day.  I went out after dark to switch over our gutters from filling rain barrels to flowing rainwater into underground pipes that feed directly into the wetlands.  In the process, I frightened a frog (or toad) that had to be at least three inches in length.  Amphibians have re-colonized our land.

We planted all native trees and shrubs

Two years ago we put out hummingbird feeders and were promptly rewarded with at least two pair of rubythroats.  That winter, we added seed and suet feeders to let overwintering and migrating birds know they were welcome.  Yesterday morning, we counted at least a dozen distinct species – all nesting pairs – at our feeders.  The birds are back with a vengeance, including a hawk who surveys his or her hunting ground from the top of one of the remaining pines.

Are we finished planting?  Not by a long shot.  Two weeks ago we made the trek out to New England Wild Flower Society’s Nasami Farms nursery in Whatley to inspect their new offerings and returned home with a car full of ground covers and yet another shrub.

The once-sterile plot of land now is now bio-diverse and
home to all manner of wildlife... including a hawk

We are stewards of our little chunk of land. The frogs and birds were here long before us.  They have an equal right to enjoy this little acre and a half.  Admittedly, we deter the animals we consider pests (deer, turkeys) but welcome all others. 

We occasionally even get unexpected help.  A three-foot-long garter snake, whom for whatever reason I promptly named ‘Herbert’, took up residence near the two raised-bed vegetable gardens at the front of our property.  It was a sufficient presence that Betty always made me check the area to ensure Herbert was elsewhere before she would work those plots. 

Last fall, the two boys across the street brought exciting news:  right as they were playing outside, our resident hawk swooped down from his aerie and grabbed Herbert.  He was last seen wiggling helplessly, 50 feet in the air, as the hawk sought out an appropriate luncheon spot.