Essays

Wild On The Prairie: Plants

No Watering in Winter
November 26, 2000

The students in the Native Plants class at Midland College meet at the Gone Native Arboretum. As part of the plan to develop the Arboretum I asked for their perceptions of the place, the plants, the ornamentation, the design, and any other angle of which I can think. In return they can ask me anything on the same subjects.

The first week of October we visited a flowerbed at the southwesternmost point of the planted area. Heat and dry scouring winds blast anything planted there. Part of the bed Deborah and I planted in May. This exposed location received only 4 waterings this droughty year. Even the new plants had received only 6 waterings.

"So many different types and colors of blooms and leaf structures and leaf color... and all on so little water..." The mystery and wonder of the survivability of the plants enchanted the students. The students asked to learn the 65 species planted in that 500 square feet.

I teach plant identification by telling stories about the plants. Is there a use associated with the plant -- if so, what culture? Where does it grow? Is there anything about that location or range that can be associated with the plant? Is there a story about its odor or taste? Is all else fails I make bad puns or jokes -- anything for mimetic connection.

I have a peculiar pedagogical philosophy. Humans have learned by story for most of their history -- only for the last 100 years has the rote method been applied as the dominant method. Humans have associative minds. Rote learning is rigid, and is often perceived to be a force impressed upon the student. Many kids hate learning because of that perception. Mimetic instruction recognizes the myriad influences swirling in a student's brain. A story is more enjoyable, more playful, more low-key, and in the long run, teaches much more than linear rote learning. Rote learning teaches regimentation, while mimetic learning teaches intuition, subtlety -- and other such arts of communication. I am very thankful to Midland College to allow me to develop my peculiar educational style.

I want my students to "know" the plant. A plant is not a simple two-dimensional product that is either liked or disliked. People connect with plants. Plants affect emotion and memory besides having material and culinary uses. Horticulture embodies culture itself. We transmit who we are and who our ancestors were by which plants we choose to ornament our personal space.

October meandered rainily along. The students became more proficient at knowing the plants of that bed, and began to recognize them in other beds elsewhere at the Arboretum. One day I commented, "Thanks to the rain, I will not water until the first of March." Jaws dropped. "Say what?"

"Yeah, and in fact, everybody should stop watering. Automatic watering systems should be turned off. The cool temperatures of the next four months will hold this moisture in the soil. Only once in this seven year drought did the fall rains fail, and that was last year. Then I watered heavily in October to replicate our normal pattern. To not water all winter is a celebration of the survivability of plants. We should give Lake Ivey and our water wells a rest. We should not grow plants that can not make it on our normal winter moisture."

"What about watering before a big freeze -- everybody says that is a must."

"I know. I am just telling you what I do. Some plants definitely need more moisture in the winter. It is obvious that fruiting mulberries need more. The little grove north of the bird tower is dying, and it is not only from refusing to water weekly during the heat of the summer. Those trees have frozen back at least twice because they were not wet enough. Their "unadaptability" is why I am letting them die. Remember, there are Arizona Cypress are in the same area which are doing wonderfully."

"I will replace the mulberries with Chinese Pistache, Texas Red Oak, Goldenball Lead Tree, Bigtooth Maple, Mexican Redbud, and if I can harvest some seed, some Wright's Acacia. I wish one of the native plant growers would promote the Acacia -- it looks like the Acacias of Africa that elephants and giraffes shape so artistically. That grouping would give something of interest year around, along with the Cypress. The fall colors would be its peak season."

"We know the Pistache, Oak, the Redbud variety, the Goldenball, the Maple... but show us the Acacia."

"It is over by the Circle Garden." We moseyed over to the location. "It is native in the hills around Pandale and on over to the Frio drainage. Benny Simpson, the late Texas A & M researcher up at Renner had a row of them along the maintenance yard road, and those trees were well over 25 feet tall. I just love the angularity of the branches -- it has crisp geometric lines... you see what I am trying to say, right? Down in Howard's Creek there are a number of these that lean out over the dirt road, along with the rarest species of Goldenball Leadtree. That draw can entertain a botanist for hours. The neighborhood also draws snake lovers for the Graybanded Kingsnake. There is a plant I wish we could grow from there -- and maybe someday I will plant some seeds or find somebody growing them. Coyotillo is a broadleaved evergreen. Ol' Jack at Judge Bean's place planted one in that wonderful native plant garden."

"I love that Del Rio country," said Taylor. Taylor loves to travel west Texas. Everybody should roam the roads like he does almost every weekend. While we were talking Rachel reached up and pulled down an old bean off of the acacia.

"Darn, no seeds." Rachel collects seeds off of everything to take back to the MC greenhouse.

"You really don't water until March first?" Sybil wanted to hear that one more time. "You ought to make that the subject of your next column."