Some Thoughts on Xeriscaping

April 23, 2013

I'm back from a wondrous adventure through the Mojave with my dear friends Tomek, K.A. and D.K. and am here in the safety of the post-Police State (-Commonwealth?) of Boston. Between the dramatic bits of "news" I was able to receive while out in the back country, I did my best to unwind from a harsh week in my hometown, losing myself in the silence and stillness that I've only ever found in the Southwest. Forest, lakes and rivers all offer their own sanctuary from the bustle of everyday life, but even there, still, there is motion, sound, activity. This isn't to say the desert is void of life, but rather that in the vast expanse of untainted wilderness, sound and life seem to disappear into the back drop and one is left with only the sound of blood flowing past your ear drums. There is no breeze through the trees, no trickle of water over smooth stones; you are free to look out and experience everything and nothing all at the same time. It is a foreign planet, void of skyscrapers, tweets, news feeds or people. It is lovely.

I'm no desert rat myself, but I have a love for those peculiar folk and an affinity for the places they relish. Driving through Ballarat and Panamint Springs, you find a queer mix of folk who are there to enjoy or exploit the vast surroundings. They all see a reward of sorts in the desert. Congregate enough of these people around strategically-placed desert springs, and you come into the major fallacy of the Southwest: its cities. The vast, sprawling urban areas of the region are like nothing I know from my East Coast upbringing; standing on a mountain and looking down on these cities boggles the mind. While surrounded by the modest -- and sometimes almost nonexistent -- life of the desert, these cities spread farther than what seems reasonable or logical. The sweeping suburbs of Las Vegas. The domineering borders of Phoenix. The water-draining dwellings of SoCal. How can the land sustain itself?

Odds are, it can't. Sooner or later, the springs, aquifers and lakes of the Southwest will dry up and large urban areas will either have to start stealing water from other nearby municipalities or abandon their cities for fairer land. (Or, I suppose, they could truck it in? And if you thought gas prices were high...) Their lawns, their trees, their beloved golf courses will all perish, withered and disfigured by the fiery desert heat.

An example of this is Pahrump, Nevada. An unassuming city, to say the most, Pahrump lies on a large underground aquifer and is but a few measly mountain ranges from Las Vegas. The area around the city is stunning and mostly untouched. Pahrump itself shows the folly of the desert's endangered species: desertus urbanus. Driving past empty lots of desert holly and sage so dry that a strong enough breeze might render them dust in the wind, one can spot towering stands evergreens, palms and other green-leafed trees. Surrounding the city is a mostly barren, red, mountainous landscape that is as foreboding and unforgiving as it is beautiful. It is a strange sight to behold grassy lawns and tall trees amidst such an inhospitable environment. Yet here they stand, sucking up water that may have better purposes than feeding the neighborhood's ill-advised ash trees. When it comes down to it, Pahrump only has so much water. What's worse for the city, its neighbor Las Vegas uses more water than it has. Soon will come a time when Las Vegas either buys water from Pahrump or simply steals it through some geological trickery. All to feed golf courses and landscaping, as well as the tourists attracted to them.

You can see this play out across the Southwest. Folks love the desert, but for some reason try their darndest to make their yard look like it's somewhere else, in a more fertile land. Palm trees and other tropical plants can be seen in on every corner in Scottsdale. Even in Death Valley's Furnace Creek, one can spot a plethora of unnatural botanical specimens that are nothing but towering -- albeit beautiful -- sponges. The process of rendering desert oases where they don't belong.

If you love the desert, why must you develop the land in such a way that would destroy it? The practice of Xeriscaping -- gardening your land in such a way that uses little water -- is widely used throughout America's desert lands. Filling your yard with all sorts of cacti and desert trees is a wonderful way to make your land beautiful and fitting while lowering your water footprint on the desert. While all of the places I've mentioned follow this practice, they also employ the aesthetics of tropical plants. But why? I understand the beauty of them and how every city wants to be LA or some Mediterranean port, but you've built a city in a hot, hostile environment where only the strongest survive. Drive through any of these areas, and it will be easy to find dead stands of palm trees, towering tombstones decaying in the fierce sun. Uncared for, all of these artificially introduced plants with either die or kill everything around them by stealing all of the water. 

Why do that to your land?

Listen, I get that every part of the country grows plants that aren't meant for their region. Heck, I planted a Japanese maple last spring. Yet there are plenty of plants that not only look wonderful, but can survive in a desert without causing great damage to the land, and likely exist naturally in your area. Artfully placed cacti and succulents look great, do less damage, and fit into the landscape better. Plus, you can grow plants that can be useful: Mormon tea for a natural energy beverage, mesquite trees for a barbequing spice, prickly pear cactus to cook with, etc. So cut down that pine tree, that palm, that maple, oak or elm in your yard. Save the water, save the desert.

After all, you're in an arid climate. Every state has places with trees, but very few have areas that boast the kind of plant and animal life one finds in the Southwest. The people who live in the desert are those who love it (or those who can't get out of it). Enjoy it for what it is!


Trees are wonderful, but they weren't made for the Mojave or the Sonoran. Tuxedos are fantastic things to wear to parties, unless that party is in Allston.

If the desert is your party, it's time to start dressing it like it.


Photos: Beaver Tail Cactus in Bloom at Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area, NV; Cool Cacti at the Desert Botanical Gardens in Phoenix, AZ; Area behind Steph's house in Scottsdale, AZ