I got some terrible news yesterday. I used to own a house. I sold it
when I moved to another city to start grad school. I’d lived there a long time
and had lovingly planted many native plants. I had about a dozen native azaleas
in all shades of colors in my front yard, under the tall shade of a grove of
mature loblolly pine trees. I had sweetshrub at the side of the yard just past
the pine grove and the edge of the woods. Black cohosh, rattlesnake plantain, wild
ginger, Jack-in-the –pulpit, several types of ferns, and bloodroot occupied their
own little niches around the front and backyard. In the backyard I had the
loveliest tulip poplar tree, along with more pines.
Squirrels loved the tall trees, and an owl made its nest on one of the
pines. So many types of birds visited that I gave up count. Sometimes we had
wild rabbits and foxes. It was my own half-acres of refuge for wildlife and
native plants.
But life happens, and I moved, passing this patch of land on to someone
else. I hoped, because the woman who bought the house was raised in the
country, that she would appreciate and keep most of the plants. Not so.
I’m rarely back in my old city, so I’ve only been back by my old house
once. That was over a year ago, when I happened to be in the neighborhood and I
drove by out of curiosity. I saw then that the new owner had cleared out almost
everything under the tall pines in the front – including my native azaleas. My
stomach sunk down to my feet when I saw that. I’d loved those shrubs so much.
Most of them were rescued from land that was about to be developed and I had
nurtured them through drought to get them established. How eagerly I had waited
for them to bloom every year. After that, I resolved never to drive by the
house again. And I didn’t.
But my son did, just this week. And he told me that the new owner had
cut down all the mature pines in the front of the house, and most of what was
in the back. Apparently the owner did not even harvest the trees for timber, as
the trees were just stacked at the edge of the yard. Such a waste. Everything
else in the yard – shrubs, small trees, anything but grass – was also gone.
I felt sick. I felt that I had let my plants and the wildlife down. I
know it is not my property anymore, but I felt responsible, as if I should have
stayed there and protected them. But I chose another path, and I didn’t. So what
I ponder today, is how far stewardship goes. I felt that I was the steward of
that little piece of land, not just the owner, when it was mine. But I
relinquished that stewardship to someone who did not care for the living things
of that patch of land as I did. And I regret it. But I also know that the
decision I made was the one I needed to make for my own life.
Right now I do not own any land. I’m not sure I ever will again. I try
to be a good steward of the common resources in my new community, parks and
woods and the common areas of the place I live. Ownership does not equal the
right to do anything to a piece of land and the living beings on it. If I ever
do own land again, I’ll do my best to be a good steward. And to only pass it on
to someone to is willing to be a steward not just an owner.
