You’re in My Blood Like [Dandelion] Wine

Where are you from? 

As winter spreads its wings across the northern hemisphere, I find myself here, in Colorado where I have lived for the last thirty-odd years, at the junction of the Great Plains and the Rocky Mountains, catching my breath from after the frenzy of fall work and travel. But I still consider myself a Californian; I was born and raised there. I also lived in New York City and Connecticut. Maybe, as Joni Mitchell sings of Canada, It’s in my blood like holy wine.

Lately, I have been reflecting on the many ways we create a sense of place and groundedness. How do we decide on where we feel we belong?

In landscape architecture, we talk a lot about “native” plants. This moniker is often a short-hand for moral and biological superiority: so-called native plants are thought to be better adapted to local climates, to be less aggressive than “invasive” species and to recreate lost habitat for other native species. 
While native plants are often beautiful and hearty, I believe that the category invites many more questions than answers. For example, what do we count as the baseline time for a “native” plant’s arrival in a given region? More and more, we discover that plants, animals and people have always been on the move all over the planet. Many of the people in the ancient city of Pompeii, for example, were not Italian. 

And why do we consider some plants undesirable weeds, when elsewhere their image is much more positive? Purslane and dandelions, unwanted by most American gardeners, are relished in Italy as ingredients for salads and wine-making. 

Do we count native plants as those we believe to have been present in the US before European contact? Or, as we learn more about widespread land-stewardship techniques of Native Americans, do we count native plants as those that were present before people crossed the land bridge and began shaping environments for better game pastures and acorn foraging?

One of the things I value most as a designer is the opportunity to create places of belonging for all who inhabit or pass through. I approach projects by listening to what my clients want and creating places where they will feel they belong - whether that is a tree that they loved in their home in Michigan or sweet smelling shrubs that remind them of where they came from in Iran. 

I believe it is important to support pollinators and microorganisms that make our world healthy and alive. I love native plants but I also love their cousins, neighbors and friends who fit in with the climate and place. I think they all have a lot to teach us, and I am delighted to continue to learn.