C-O-D-E-R-E-D

So, yes, “natural” reigns in my yard; I’ve given myself permission to be free-form and messy. The landscape’s rocky, volcanic soil is an extension of the lava beds just ten miles away. It doesn’t hold moisture well, but the muted desert colors—tan, sage, and mossy brown—have their own kind of glamor for those who have eyes to see. Though I miss the varied elegant greens of a wetter climate, life abounds anyway under crystal-starred nights, the clean rush of myriad rivers, and the red porous earth.
I take landscape tips from my ninety-three-year-old neighbor who has weathered many days here and come up thriving. Marguerite’s yard includes plants with names like “sweep the sky,” which are lush with yellow blossoms in June. Her “tiny rubies” ground cover, when in full bloom, looks like drops of sparkling blood.
Ms. M. has spent years arranging flagstone in straight up and down patterns, like canyon walls, creating a rugged effect that imitates Native American geography on the reservation just east. She has hauled down mountain driftwood, carved by eons of wind and parched white as if by the ocean, from hikes along local glaciers. The enigmatic shape of her landscape accentuates the high-desert, high-flying appeal of her home.

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