My neighbors are wild. They are often up half the night. They sing at the top of their lungs in the wee hours of the morning. They tear my hostas right out of the ground. One neighbor walked the perimeter of my yard and then proceeded to matter-of-factly pee on the side of my house. The neighbors I mention are (in order of appearance): racoons, birds, deer, and a feral cat with a luxuriously beautiful black-and-white coat who belongs to no one but who I call Sylvester. The deer I’ve named Friskie, Trixie and Mother Doe. Every bird is named Purdie Birdie or Little Love. And the racoons are simply “The Racoons,” like “The Smiths” or “The Dales” or “The Pierce Jennings.” I admire these neighbors, my wonderful wild neighbors. I appreciate their diversity, their unpretentious behavior, their freedom of being and their wildness. I feel special that they choose to be my neighbor.
Like any good neighbor, I want them to stay, I want them to be happy and I want to get along. As spring is springing, and I think about land care, I thoughtfully consider: What will the neighbors think? In that spirit, I wouldn’t dream of doing anything that would harm or drive away my neighbors. One could call it a live and let live way of being. So, of course I leave the moss, dandelions and violets, wood sorrel, plantain and all the other plants to live out their lives. And of course I don’t expose anyone to harmful chemical herbicides.
Word has gotten around that I’m a good neighbor. Once the violets return in early spring and the dandelions show their bright faces, the bumble bees start dropping by for frequent social visits. By mid-spring the place is hopping. Literally. Clover attracts the bunnies, you know. By summer it’s one big round-the-clock party.
Have I always been a good neighbor? No, I’m sorry to admit. I used to think I was somehow required to have a monotonous green grass lawn, even if I didn’t really believe it myself. But now I realize that was something I did to convince my human neighbors that I was responsible, that I had my act together, that I was socially acceptable. But if I’m being honest with myself, I am at the core wild, just like my party animal neighbors.
—Angie Pierce Jennings, Prairiewoods hosted groups and hospitality coordinator