Some mornings I get out on the state park trail early — 45 minutes before sunrise. Ambient temperatures have been in the 50s and 60s at that hour, yet others are already out walking or jogging. I recognize most of them, if not by name, then by their gait, and whether or not they return a greeting. Some of them listen to books or podcasts on their mobile devices and pass unawares. I prefer walking out of darkness into the light of a new day with only nature sounds as my background.

By the time I return home, there is enough light to see the striping patterns on our neighbors’ lawns. They put down fertilizer, and probably pesticides, then mow much more often than I do. After all the rain last week, there is no striping on our lawn. That is by design.

When we built the house, our contractor put in a lawn using grass seed. The property is a former farm field, and while it hasn’t been farmed for 50 years, what grew up here afterward became well-established. What we planted did not persist as previously resident vegetation kept trying to re-establish itself. At some point I gave up.

That means I quit competing with neighbors over lawns. I stopped mowing every week, and eventually started mowing only when I needed the grass clippings for the garden. That enabled the vegetation that was here to return.

In addition, the taller grass provided habitat for birds, small mammals, and insects. It hid them from easy view. Instead of showing my handiwork in grass lines, I highlighted a place where local creatures could live and thrive.

Not every native plant belongs everywhere. The one in the photo below is pokeweed living next to the composter. It is highly toxic to humans. Pokeweed is propagated by birds dropping its seeds after eating the berries. The main risk was of contact dermatitis. I seldom eat plants I don’t understand.

I put on a long sleeved shirt, surgical gloves, and dug it out by the root. The root is very long. Taking the top 12 inches, there was a clean break indicating I didn’t get it all. Will watch the area to make sure it doesn’t return.

When I walk on the trail, I never know where the day will go. Today, it is pokeweed, which took an hour to investigate and resolve. Tomorrow, who knows. The uncertainty found in each day is a benefit of beginning with the sounds of nature. I wouldn’t have it any other way.