My interest in hedges was ignited about 15 years or so ago, when my neighbor (who’d owned her property since the 50s), did the most extreme and inexplicable thing.
Imagine arriving home one afternoon and being faced with an empty, yawning void---80’L x 9’w---along the side of your property where once stood a venerable hedge of forsythia mixed with American Cranberry Viburnums. The remains of the hedgerow lay strewn about like the victims of an attack. My (quite wonderful!) neighbor was a long-time gardener and I could not fathom why she would do such a thing. After first feeling like my soul had left my body, I gathered my composure enough to talk with her without shrieking like a banshee, and asked what prompted this curious decision.
Her answer: “because I wanted to look at your lovely garden!” ...omigod omigod omigod---WHAAAAT!
While I appreciate she wanted a prime view into our side garden, what was astounding is that she apparently forgot to think of the inverse of this scenario—that now we would be forced to peer directly into HER yard…and enclosed patio with the television on…and car…and garage—and clear into her neighbor’s yard as well. I can remember feeling nauseous as the enormity of the matter sunk in.
I’ve noticed over the past 40+ years how the concept of the hedge has been lost or, more accurately—abandoned. Decades ago, suburbia’s properties were typically defined by a hedge, and these were often the pride of the homeowners who tended to them (back when people were actually out in their yards instead of hermetically sealing themselves into their houses as they do today). I don’t think people realize the profound negative effect this has had on our environment, and I think it’s fair to say their loss has had a pretty erosive impact on the quality of relationships between neighbors as well.
Today, the hedgerow has been replaced by the likes of vinyl fencing, chain link, or in many cases—nothing at all. I do understand that deer pressure probably has also factored into some decisions to abandon it, but I’m ready to take up the mission to get as many locals in my region to take up hedge-building again.
Hedges have a long history—back to the 1400s at least. Most of our hedgerow knowledge came from Europe, with the UK and Ireland being known for their mastery of hedge-crafting and hedge-laying and utilize at least a dozen styles/methods of construction for them. The typical highly-trimmed hedge sculpted into tight geometric shapes originated there, and while it’s absolutely NOT my preferred style of hedge, I’d certainly prefer it to no hedgerow at all.
Hedges also do a lot of work, and much of it is nothing a fence can do.
Let me talk about the one my neighbor butchered. This wide, wild, and ANCIENT forsythia hedge buffered the screaming Northwest winds of winter. It blocked the deer from cutting through my side yard. It expertly muffled the noise from neighbors and cars. It screened the rather unappealing view described earlier. It provided ample food for pollinators.
But what it did best was host hordes of birds who readily consumed the berries from the intermixed viburnums, and who used it for shelter in all seasons. It was also the long-time nesting site of both Northern Cardinals and Gray Catbirds, because of the safety its thin stems provided from portly, nest-raiding raccoons.
But it did even more. That hedge was the purest, clearest beacon of spring, blooming in a lazy, wandering river of yellow all along my side yard…in some years it was absolutely glorious. It was something I always looked forward to as we emerged from the dregs of winter.
And then it was gone—and now what? I didn’t know what to do. That helpless feeling lasted all of 5 minutes before I knew exactly what I needed to do…I was going to establish an 80’ long hedgerow just inside the property line as soon as was humanly possible.
So that’s how I came to hedge-building.
And you know what? I’m still angry about the hedge murder—and suspect I always will be. I remember on the day it was removed, seeing the Northern Cardinals looking shell-shocked, and appearing as confused & crestfallen as I was at the unfortunate new development.
This similar scenario has been repeated everywhere—with hedgerows & landscape buffers getting torn out and soulless fences put in their place (and which frankly seem to serve no purpose other than be expensive property markers). It’s no wonder that there’s such a profound decline in songbirds…when you remove the very things where they shelter, feed & reproduce---and replace it with something which does none of those things---what would anyone expect? I wonder how many thousands of miles of hedgerow have been lost over the past 50 years in the US—the number is likely staggering (as is the number of songbird losses over the same period).
And fences…ugggh…aside from the fact the vinyl ones are most certainly shedding microplastics into the soil, they are very, very, very bad for wildlife. When researching how to design and build our deer fence, I read dozens of wildlife journal articles & research papers about the myriad ways fences harm and kill wildlife. I saw photos in those papers that will be forever in my mind…the suffering that they can cause is highly disturbing. Fences get a hard pass from me unless they’re thoughtfully and purposely engineered to prevent wildlife injury & death. Until I began that research, I had NO IDEA how disruptive and dangerous they truly were (and it’s why our deer fence took two years of planning & design before I felt it met those qualifications). But that’s a topic for another day.
One of my goals is to get more people to understand the real measurable value & work that hedgerows do. No fence prevents erosion or storm runoff, or feeds & fosters wildlife, or muffles sound as well—or, to be frank—LOOKS as effing GORGEOUS! I am quite sure no one ever stood in front of a vinyl fence and marveled at its beauty. Literally NO ONE.
I think they also could make us kinder. Often neighbors would commiserate and bond when meeting up during their hedge-trimming duties—which is a type of community-building that’s clearly been lost to the ages. They also helped define and quiet our personal spaces…they're softer than a wall or fence, but enough of a shield to let us have the type of privacy & solitude that can keep you sane. And neighbors don't bond over a vinyl fence.
But I’ll admit, establishing a hedge is hard—especially with a changing & unpredictable climate and extreme deer pressure, which is why it’s so distressing when existing ones are lost; it’s always so much easier to destroy than it is to maintain or build. And building takes time. But it can be done—and I would argue it must be.
I fervently believe we need to restore these important pieces of our environment, and I hope to find some environmentally-savvy folks who could be inspired to resurrect the art of the hedge—and I’d be more than happy to help if it means we can see hedgerows rise again in Bridgewater. It would go a long way to help spread the word on what amazing services these ecological powerhouses provide.
We could be a little quieter and calmer, less windblown, and with spaces that are more private, restorative, and personal. We could enjoy the sounds of birds returning and the peep-peep-peeping of little ones in their nests—doesn’t that sound like something we all could use a little more of?
Any takers?
Oh—and that neighbor who cut down her hedge? She began getting rainwater flooding her basement, starting the year she cut it down. Actions have consequences—always. When will we ever learn?
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