Where Will The Wild Spaces Go
Before It’s Gone: The Urgent Case for Wild Spaces in Our Backyards
Drive through almost any growing town, and you’ll see it: fields and forests being cleared, wetlands being drained, and fences going up. We carve the land into neat parcels, replace native plants with imported ornamentals, and wonder why pollinators, birds, and wildlife are struggling to survive.
Every new development, every backyard fence, every lawn-centric landscape takes something away from the land that was already here.
So here’s my question:
As we keep expanding, where will the wild spaces go?
Where will the pollinators find food when we replace native meadows with rock mulch and shrubs from across the world?
Where will the birds shelter when we cut down the last of the old trees and build parking lots in their place?
What happens when we create human centered landscapes that serve only us—without considering or fulling understanding the creatures who have lived here far longer than we have?
We don’t ask these questions enough. We build, we plant, we dig—without often stopping to ask what we’re removing, and what might be lost in the process.
But here’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately: Gardening can either be part of the problem—or part of the solution. We may not feel we are able to slow down expansion but we can control what happens in our own yards.
The way we plant, the way we shape our landscapes, the way we interact with the land—it all matters. And even in small spaces, we have the power to restore, rather than erase.
So how do we do that? How do we move beyond traditional gardening and landscaping to create spaces that support life—not just for us, but for the creatures who depend on the land as well?
That’s what I want to explore here. Because the truth is, we didn’t always live this way—and we don’t have to continue down this path.
What I Learned Moving From a Small Urban Lot to Two Acres
I’ve lived in both worlds—the small urban lot where every inch of space counted, and now, on two acres, where I have more room to work with.
I understand the privilege of space, and I don’t take it for granted. Not everyone has land to work with—but what I’ve learned is that wildness can be nurtured anywhere, no matter the size of your property.
When I lived in a small urban lot in Denver, I started rethinking what a garden could be:
I planted wild plants in the narrow strips by sidewalks and walkways.
I replaced my front lawn with food and native plants.
I designed my space with pathways to wander through, making the yard feel immersive.
Out back, I built raised beds for growing food while incorporating layers of planting to support pollinators and wildlife.
Instead of forcing rigid order, I embraced versatility—letting some spaces evolve naturally while tending others with care.
Even in a small space, I found ways to make my garden a place of refuge—not just for me, but for the plants, insects, and creatures that shared the land with me.
Now, on two acres, I have the ability to take this even further. But I’m still asking the same core question:
How do we make space for nature in the places we call home?
That’s why I’m meeting with Mary Reynolds, leader of the A.R.K. (Acts of Restorative Kindness) movement, this Monday for a consultation.
I want to deepen my understanding of how to best serve nature—not just in large, wild spaces, but in everyday backyards, front yards, and urban landscapes. Because we all have a role to play, whether we have a balcony, a small garden, or acres of land.
The Myth of Control
Much of modern gardening reflects our disconnect from nature.
Instead of working with the land, we try to control it.
We lay down plastic to suppress weeds instead of asking why they are growing there in the first place.
We plant non-native species without considering what local insects and wildlife need to survive.
We remove “messy” elements like fallen logs and wildflowers because they don’t fit the aesthetic we’ve been taught to value.
We are told that a good garden is one that is tidy, orderly, and controlled.
But nature doesn’t work that way.
Nature is dynamic, evolving, and unpredictable. It thrives in the spaces we call "wild"—the edges of forests, the meadows filled with self-seeding plants, the undisturbed soil rich with microbial life.
When we erase these wild spaces, we’re not just affecting the land. We’re affecting ourselves.
Because the further we move away from nature, the more disconnected we become from something essential- our reliance on and healing relationship with nature as well as the last bits of magic in our world.
Bringing Back an Intuitive Way of Living
I believe we are at a turning point.
As climate change accelerates, as biodiversity declines, as pollinators vanish, politicians dissappoint and soil health deteriorates, we are faced with a choice:
Do we continue to garden and live as if we are separate from nature?
Or do we return to a way of being that is more intuitive, more interconnected, more in tune with the rhythms of the land?
This is the foundation of Intuitive Gardening—an approach that invites us to:
Observe before we act. Instead of forcing a landscape to fit our vision, we can learn what the land is already doing and work with it.
Choose plants that belong. By selecting native and regionally adapted plants, we create ecosystems that sustain life, not just gardens that look good.
Honor wild spaces. Leaving parts of our gardens "untamed" creates refuge for pollinators, birds, and beneficial insects.
Listen to the land. The soil, the plants, the movement of water—everything is communicating if we pay attention.
This isn’t about rejecting gardening or development. It’s about rethinking our role as stewards of the land rather than owners of it.
What If We Chose to Keep the Wild Spaces?
We can’t stop all development. We can’t undo what’s already been lost.
But we can decide whether we are making space for nature—or erasing it.
And the choices we make—on our own properties, in our neighborhoods, in the way we design gardens—matter.
A backyard left a little wild can become a sanctuary for pollinators.
A fence designed with gaps for small creatures to move through can make all the difference in an urban environment.
A commitment to native plants can restore an entire ecosystem, one garden at a time.
Every small action is a step toward restoring the relationship we once had with the land.
And it starts with remembering how to listen.
Want to Explore This More Deeply?
This is exactly what I’m teaching inside my Intuitive Gardening course, launching this month for paid subscribers.
This isn’t another gardening how-to. It’s a journey into:
Relearning how to listen to the land before making decisions
Creating gardens that restore, not just decorate
Working in alignment with nature instead of against it
Breaking free from convenience-based gardening and reconnecting with an intuitive, reciprocal way of tending the earth
Getting in touch with our intuition.
If this resonates with you—if you’ve felt the pull to garden differently, to reconnect with something deeper—I’d love for you to join me.
Sign up as a paid subscriber and start learning today.
Because we still have a choice.
We can’t go back in time. But we can decide, right now, to make space for the wild.
And maybe, just maybe, the wild spaces don’t have to disappear—if we choose to keep them.