I’m going to war with the jumpseed in my yard. When I moved in two years ago, the side yard was overrun by thistle, dandelions, and invasive, weedy things that thrive in moist soil and semi-shade. The giant hostas planted there did just fine in this environment, so I left them alone. The first year I was here I spent hours filling dozens of lawn bags with noxious, invasive plants that have no business in my backyard. But in my choice to remove all the nonnative plants, I made a mistake in leaving the jumpseed. It has since taken over, and it’s even starting to crowd out the giant hostas.
Jumpseed is a native plant, which is why I left it there in the first place. It’s not as pretty as its cousins, smartweed, and knotweed, which thrive in sunnier conditions than jumpseed does. Its flowers attract honeybees, bumblebees, wasps, and ants, who are all good. It also attracts stink bugs and leafhoppers, which are less cool.
It’s called jumpseed because it practically jumps right out of the ground, with alternative leaves splitting into pairs off of a singular stalk. The seeds themselves also jump as far as 10 or 13 feet from the plant when ripe. From that, almost overnight, the seed stalk jumps up, growing tall. It’s a prolific self-seeder, and it’s starting to spread to the front yard.
This labor day weekend I spent a long, sweaty hour on the west side of my house pulling jumpseed. I know I pulled it too late, and it’s going to do it again next year. Immediately after every part of my body remotely exposed to the task was itchy, and jumpseeds had gripped tightly onto my hair. I spent 30 minutes in the shower just washing seeds down the drain. This is another reason jumpseed is such a prolific spreader. It’s seeds have tiny hooks that easily grab onto the hair or fur of traveling wildlife, including me.
I put down a seed mix I got from my brother, who works with a native plant restoration company in central Illinois. That mix includes obedient plant, new England asters, swamp milkweed, rosemallow, bundeflower and indigo
Next spring I will go out there early with my clippers and snip all the little jumpseed leafs I can find before they go to seed. I’ll probably do this for many years to come. If we’re lucky in a few years the seed mix will outcompete the jumpseed. By then the front and back prairies should be established well enough that I’ll be in a beautiful little prairie oasis on my little slice of an urban acre.
When we moved into our house last June, the backyard had been neglected for a long time. The previous owners were keen to half-finish projects and generally let the yard go unused, except apparently as a place to store used Juul pods. Concrete pavers occupied a fair amount of space, and we saw the opportunity to remove those, add topsoil, and create a garden fairly easily.
To my eyes, the space along the fence presented the most opportunity for garden experimentation. This long plot of dirt, about 18-20 inches wide and about 40 feet long, was overgrown with weeds peeking up through the cracks in the pavers and untamed mint plants that the neighbor planted on their side of the fence years ago. I decided to plant a prairie here.
Last October, Dave and I, using a pry bar and a 10 foot long pipe to create a fulcrum, removed dozens of pavers from the ground. Then, exhausted and sweaty, we covered the now-exposed sand beneath with a layer of straw and let it decay over winter. Prairies require a cold, dormant season for their seeds to sprout and begin growing. In February, on a lovely about-freezing afternoon, I put on a heavy wool sweater and some leggings, grabbed my shovel and removed about a foot of sand from the tract along the fence. Honestly, it was a refreshing activity. I filled it in with top soil and let it go through a few more freeze/thaw cycles.
When I felt enough time had passed, and when they arrived in the mail, I cast a tallgrass exposed clay subsoil prairie seed mix along that length of the yard. This is the start of my urban prairie.
Why a prairie? Prairies are great. They are beautiful four seasons out of the year. Tallgrasses and a season-long showcase of florals that attract pollinators and birds? Yes, please. Illinois is the Prairie State but we have less than 1% of our prairie left. Native plants attract pollinators, which will help your vegetables produce more food, and their thick and deep root systems soak up water, which helps keep it out of your basement. Beyond that, they provide season-long blooms in a huge array of colors and if you don’t find 10 foot-tall bluegrass stems impressive, I’m not sure what to tell you. They were good enough for Frank Lloyd Wright.
Restoring a prairie takes a few years. These hearty, tall, gorgeous plants have a deep root structure, the eight-foot-tall big bluestems I’m hoping for will have roots that push down four feet into the earth. Once these perennial plants are established they will require next-to-no work from me. They will also provide a winter haven for insects and a natural landscape I can enjoy all four seasons. For the first two or three years, I will never be able to quit weeding.
I chose the tallgrass exposed clay subsoil seed mix from Prairie Moon Nursery. It was the simplest way to get the most diversity of plants that were known to be native to my home region. Now that they are all starting to sprout, I find myself out there most days eyeing tiny flowers and vines. My Seek app is full of things I put there and can’t recognize. Mostly, it’s because they are too small and I am impatient. I know what I planted there, because I have the list of seeds in that mix, so what I need now is a place to catalog what I find.
Below, is the list of seeds that I ordered from Prairie Moon. Over the course of the season, I’ll be cataloging what I find so that I can better understand what exactly I have done in my backyard. I will likely re-seed next fall, to fill in some patches and create a little more diversity. Once things get taller, I may have to mow, which considering the size of the acreage will probably happen with scissors. Eventually, we’ll have to talk about a controlled burn but that’s not today. I would be a fool to tell you there aren’t way more plants in that bed than there are listed here. It’s a big, open exposed bed of topsoil with no groundcover. I’m fighting weeds I don’t want, and not fighting weeds I think are cute.