The allure of rich earth waiting to be transformed into grass and trees, flowers, fruits and vegetables, draws many people to purchase country acres. I was definitely one of those. Though I hungered to experience wildlife after many decades in suburban Richmond, I saw no contradiction in pouring over garden books after we bought our "raw" land, farmed until four years previously and full of miniature pine and cedar trees and high grasses. I had much to learn!

For two springs, before we built the house, I pulled up pines and hopefully hoed a garden plot in the sun, beginning with healthy nursery plants. Yet each weekend trip found the plants languishing or simply gone, evidently down holes that had suddenly replaced the roots. I hauled gallons of water, but the sandy soil just drank it up, leaving little for the plants.

Each fall I brought out truckloads of mown leaves from our Richmond house, ingredients of what I hoped would be magic compost. They too seemed to disappear by summer.

After we built our house, I was ready to get serious about gardening. Grass came first, but the soil rejected my Kentucky 31 seed. Instead, everywhere I mowed, a tough--really tough--wire grass took over, right through any patches I had set aside for flowers and vegetables. Multiple sowings of wild flowers only brought a few patches of daisies and black-eyed susans, soon overwhelmed by the wire grass.

I began to realize just how spongy this grass was, as holes and tunnels appeared overnight. And the tulips I planted so carefully put up their green flags, then vanished, as if eaten by the hungry soil-or something living inside it.

Here was wildlife I had not anticipated--varmints chomping in the night and under the tough grass, moles, voles, a groundhog, and who knew what else. I tried everything--spores to kill grubs, poison, traps, even chewed Juicy Fruit gum in the holes, but nothing worked then or works today.

Much less than half of what I planted would continue to grow. Trunks of young trees would be gnawed before I noticed. Squash and tomatoes would vanish overnight. Plants would wilt suddenly, for their roots had been eaten. Oddly enough, deer did not seem to be a problem, although I saw them cruising through our woods.

After more than a decade of trying to create a flourishing garden, I have come to terms with my wild sandy earth, more or less.

The wiregrass makes a rather solid lawn, if I pull out certain broad-leaved weeds and keep it mowed. It is certainly well aerated by the voles and moles; we just have to watch our steps sometimes. It's a 'native' lawn, with plenty of thick moss coming on the north side of the house.

A few trees and bushes have done well, with their trunks initially wrapped well. The Bradford Pear, the crabapple, and apple trees keep the raccoons and squirrels well fed. The crepe myrtles are lanky, reaching out of the shade, but they do bloom. Rhododendrons, camellias, and blueberry bushes love the acidic soil, although the birds always beat me to the berries.

Underground varmints don't like daffodils, it seems, so we have hundreds of those instead of the tastier bulbs. And somehow two rose bushes are flourishing, with many butterfly bushes and the latest addition, an American beautyberry bush from Williamsburg.

Vegetables are a lost cause. Even tomatoes in pots on the deck get eaten before I can pick them. Clearly there is much wildlife which chomps in the night. Fortunately, in the country there are stands and neighbors with less wildlife, and plenty of veggies in season.

For many years this land was forced to say corn, beans, tobacco, perhaps even cotton, for these were ancient fields. But that takes tanks of chemicals that I see on neighboring farms, and I want to do my part in keeping chemicals out of the marsh creek I love.

My land is more "natural," though hardly wild, with its carpet of native grasses and grubs, weeds, and wildflowers, including two lady's slippers which love the straw under the persistent tall pines. The eternal tug of war between nature wild and nature tamed goes on, but given a choice, I've decided to lean toward the wild and native and adjust for the appetites of wild things.

Pleasant Living Magazine, 2007