The landscaper stood on our back patio, looking at the yard and making notes on his phone. He scratched his head under his ball cap, shifted his weight, and delivered some news I expected but didn’t want to hear.
“You have a problem back here with erosion, ma’am.” He pointed up at the house and then the ground. “See, when it rains, there’s nothing to stop the water from washing down the hill and taking the soil with it.”
He was not the first landscaper to tell me that. Over the last few years, we had noticed that the angle of the hill in our back yard was less pronounced. It was now more of a gentle slope, which I actually preferred, but I didn’t want erosion to cause the house to slide down that gentle slope.
He went on. “We can address the problem by slowing down the flow of water with plants and pine straw. We could also build a series of terraces, which frankly is your more expensive option.”
Ugh! I didn’t want either option. We had work to do inside the house, like bathrooms that needed renovating. Plus, we had a large front yard with trees and shrubs that needed pruning and about a billion bales of pine straw. With a long list of house projects, I didn’t want to spend money on a back yard that no one but our dog would see.
But we knew we had to take care of the problem before it became an even bigger problem, so we added plants and pine straw in the back. I liked the new green liriope, some of which we were able to transplant from another area of the yard. And we knew it would happily spread in the back because it was doing that elsewhere. In fact, taming the liriope was also on our project list.
After that, we realized we had more erosion on the other side of the back yard.
Erosion is not my favorite word.
After much discussion and planning, we put all other projects on hold and had a dry creek bed installed.
If you have never seen a dry creek bed, it’s like the image that is no doubt coming to your mind right now. A landscaping company comes in, prepares the ground, puts down concrete where needed, and lays river rocks in a pattern like a creek bed.
When they are done, it looks like you’ve always had a creek without water meandering through your property.
By the time ours was installed, I had embraced the need to stop erosion in its tracks. So when the workers drove away, I could actually look at it and smile. It fit in well with our woodsy property, and the river rocks and new stepping stones gave a sense of permanence and timelessness. Plus, the new ferns and lenten roses alongside added some greenery and softness to the hard surfaces.
It’s not the kind of thing I point out to people, like, say, a new bathroom, but I am glad it’s there nonetheless. And it actually works. The creek bed gives the water boundaries and sends it where we want it to go, where it won’t do any more damage.
During these years of living near a forest, I have seen that natural beauty can take many forms: verdigris lichen on tree bark, tiny pine cones from a huge evergreen, fallen leaves, orange chanterelles after a week of rain, the shell of the turtle who lives under our deck.
Years ago, I would not have taken the time to notice these things, but now I see that I am surrounded by unexpected beauty. Even in a dry creek bed.
Have you seen unexpected beauty lately? Where? Let me know in the comments below and I may use it in a future blog post.
At Glimsen, I share glimpses of the beauty around us in nature, the arts, and the unexpected. Click the green button below to get my posts delivered to your inbox once a week, and you'll also get a little printable gift of beauty just for signing up.
