Suburban ecology

A cautionary tale, but not in the way you expect.

One of our correspondents recently told us a story that illustrates a number of details of ecology, the science of how living things relate to each other.  The lessons we draw are not, however, quite those we’re used to seeing.

The correspondent lives in a suburban house in a suburban yard in a suburban development, of a sort familiar to most Americans (even those who don’t live in them).  From the point of view of many ecologists, it’s an aberration.  There is a lawn, which as a monoculture of a single subspecies.  It provides no apparent services to most pollinators or other insects, and is far from any ruminants that might find it tasty; so it could be considered a waste of space.  The plants around the edge of the lawn have been chosen for their color and appearance to the human eye, which is irrelevant to their actual purpose: to attract bees and whatever other insects are useful to their procreation.  Bedding plants do stabilize the soil, though it could be done at far less cost in annual labor.  A swimming pool is treated with chemicals especially to prevent anything growing in it.  The establishment (if our correspondent will forgive us) goes rather against the ecological movement of recent decades, to return one’s yard to its pre-human state.  In addition, pet dogs generally patrol the area, keeping away much of the wildlife by their scent if not their hunting skills (those are not the chief boast of most suburban canines).

Well, in a creek not far below the property line dwells a snapping turtle.  A female snapping turtle.  For a number of years past she has been in the habit of hauling herself up the slope to the bedding plants, testing a few spots for suitability, and eventually laying her clutch of eggs among them.  The hatchlings sometimes needed help returning to the creek (the swimming pool had its deceptive attraction for them), but our correspondent’s family had been happy to redirect them, and to repair whatever collateral damage occurred to the bedding plants.

But there hasn’t been a pet dog for a year or two.  In consequence there is more semi-wildlife, that is, wild animals who have adapted to ecosystems dominated by humans.  Foxes and raccoons are good examples.  The last clutch of turtle eggs was found by one of them, and none escaped.  Our correspondent afterward scattered some bad-smelling stuff around her yard in an attempt to ward off the predators, but there will be no hatchlings this year.

Our conclusions?  We are part of the world.  This is obvious, but often forgotten: the ecology of all our spaces includes us, from the choices of plants in our gardens to the pets we keep.  It’s impossible to separate everything into a natural world, on one hand, and an artificial world on the other.  And our actions are not always destructive.

But we can’t say what the effect will be of any particular action (or inaction).  Everything is interconnected, in complicated ways.  Not replacing a pet dog last year means no young turtles this year; what effect will that have next year?