I’m a Native Plant Gardener Now

And I have a sign to prove it.

Earlier this spring, deep in the heart of our house hunting, I drove Bradley down a lane to creep on a rustic-looking for-sale ranch that seemed promising. But as we approached our intended landmark, something distracted me across the way: poppies. Dozens of orange California ones, growing around a rock wall that partially hid a yellow house with an impressive white wrap-around porch.

“Oh I wish that one was for sale,” I said. So you’ll imagine my delight when less than a month later, I noticed that very property listed as “coming soon” on the MLS. Though the house wasn’t officially on the market yet, the listing agent told us to come by the next day.

“Just a head’s up,” she said while confirming logistics. “There’ll be a garden tour coming through.”

I had no idea that this tour happened to be the Ojai Valley Land Conservancy’s Native Garden Tour, which I’ve since learned is an annual open-to-the-public “garden crawl” that showcases a handful of remarkable private plots around town. The common thread among them? They’re each filled with the grasses, medicinal herbs and wildflowers that actually belong — which means flora that need less water and attract butterflies, bees, hummingbirds and other diverse wildlife so ecosystems are restored. TL;DR: native plants make climates more resilient.

Of course I knew nothing about any of this as I followed dozens of people inside the rock wall, through a white picket gate. I only saw a vast front yard that resembled a park: carpets of California poppies edging a covered porch that spanned the entirety of the house, meandering paths leading to a stone fireplace underneath old growth trees and various bursts of purple foxgloves and magenta hibiscus commingling with bushes of bumblebee-attracting White Sage. Once the owner popped his head out from one of the home’s barn doors, we learned he was a real estate agent by day/ native plant expert and gardener the rest of the time. The property also boasted a greenhouse and two potting sheds to support garden upkeep and flower pressing, another very active hobby.

7% Interest Rate, Be Damned: Gingham pipe dreams that were not meant to be.

As we walked the property and made our way inside, visions of pattern drenching and holiday meals in the formal dining room (complete with built-in corner shelves) began to swirl. And I made quick work plotting just how I’d turn this storybook situation (I forgot to mention the primary suite dormer windows) into the modern Cotswolds-esque masterpiece of my dreams. I quickly made it very known that I had every intention of learning how to keep the garden going so it could remain a stop on the tour for years to come, too.

We even put that last part in the letter we wrote to the owner when we formally made an offer on the house. But alas, all-cash above asking apparently means more to some than sentimentalism. And so the traditional farmhouse with its magic tour-worthy garden was not ours to win.

While that particular property was not to be, my curiosity about the beauty and power of native plants was officially piqued. So when I heard that the Ojai Valley Land Conservancy was hosting one of their bi-annual native plant sales on November 8, I knew that my Saturday plans were sorted.

We’re fairly obsessed with the existing landscaping at the house we ultimately ended up in, which has a much different vibe than the aforementioned grand country house we lost, but a vibe that’s much better suited to our real life (shocking twist — I am not meant to be a trad wife after all). In addition to having good gardening taste, the previous owners also left behind some beautiful glazed pots that I’ve been eager to fill. And so the goal of my shopping trip was born.

Home Sweet Home: Some very symmetrical lavender and a raised spiral herb garden are just two of the many happy surprises that greeted us in our new yard.

In an effort to prevent overwhelm, I armed myself with a few things before going to the sale:

• A list of the plants in our yard, in case anyone asked.

• Good, wide photos of our space.

• My new gardening notebook, where I’ve been keeping a sunlight diary to understand which parts of the yard get full sun, as the seasons change.

At the sale, which is held at OVLC headquarters each November and January, I promptly found Linda Wilkin, the OVLC’s Preserve Manager, who offered to guide me.

Once I showed Linda photos of my glazed pots and the garden in its current form, she asked some questions that I hadn’t considered:

• How much time can you spend maintaining your garden?

• What color scheme are you going for?

Anyone who’s talked to me over the last few months knows how eager I am to put the bulk of my focus into an edible garden. So anything that I can’t cook with should be fairly low-maintenance. As for the colors, I’d been so caught up in figuring out where to even start that I hadn’t yet thought about “design.” But Linda was undeterred.

“At the very least, let’s find you some hearty plants,” she said.

What is a hearty native plant, you ask? Essentially, I learned, a hearty plant is chill and less of an asshole than some other plants. It doesn’t completely wilt the second it gets thirsty or shrivel up as soon as the temperature shifts. In other words, perfect for someone who might forget to water every so often, and then might forget again even after writing a note on one’s to-do list (all very hypothetical, of course).

Linda showed me around the sale — which included pots of Monarch butterfly-favored Milkweed, Mugwort and various tea herbs that smelled heavenly. And I learned that every plant at the sale had been grown from seeds cultivated from the local river beds and preserves that the OVLC manages. She recommended a mix of plants that not only fit my criteria, but would bloom at staggered points throughout the year and keep our garden in constant motion. She also wanted to know why I was planting in pots and not in the ground.

“Uh, fear?” I said.

Nevermind. We agreed that I’d plant a few things in my glazed pots, but would also consider trying some planting in the ground. Challenge accepted.

As Linda explained more about each available variety, I started realizing just how many of these native plants already held a place in my heart. I recognized the gleaming red berries on the aptly named Hollyleaf Red Berry plants from daily walks in Rustic Canyon, our beloved Santa Monica neighborhood that we had to leave after the fires. Purple California asters are my birth flower (Virgos rise up), and blanketed the ground outside our bedroom window in the Canyon (which I always took as some sort of sign). And since the first day we discovered the “tea herb” section of the enviable edible garden at our post-fire Ojai Airbnb, we dreamt of one day planting things to steep and drink, too. So when I smelled a hanging hedgenettle’s minty, lemony bouquet (and was ready to enter a bidding war over the last available one), I knew it was time for our first tea herb to come home.

While I feel confident in my ability to choose a cactus or houseplant that’s aesthetically pleasing, I was less sure of what to look for in a native variety that needed replanting.

“You want to look for good new growth,” Linda said, pointing out the robust, green leaves sprouting at the bottom of a White Pitcher Sage (I ultimately bought two). The top of the plant looked a little iffy — think brown spots on the few leaves dotting scraggly branches. But Linda insisted that the new growth is what matters. Interestingly, none of the plants at the sale were flowering — something that the OVLC says is a good thing when looking for a native plant. “[Then] they are putting their energy into flowers, not roots.”

As I readied to put down my own roots and pay for my bounty, I learned I was only a few plants shy of receiving a Rewild Ojai starter pack —which includes a kick ass metal sign to show passersby that in this house, we heart native plants.

Never one to pass up a free gift-with-purchase, I was determined to fill the quota. And OVLC restoration field manager Martin Schenker, who happened to be standing near the register, had an idea.

“Do you like bats?” he asked, showing me a low, spreading plant called a California Primrose that apparently attracts the flying mammal (and, I learned, is a rare nursery find). My eyes lit up. I did not tell Martin how Bradley and I once stood in Sydney’s Centennial Park, gleefully observing the city’s famous flying foxes, for hours. I just nodded yes.

If I can keep it alive, it’ll be the star of next year’s garden tour.

Precious Cargo: My partial haul. The rest is in the backseat.