Sadly, aint a wish, but a necessity. But ignorin' what our forefathers 've done to the lands 'cross the globe, we've done our fair share's well.
We travel 'cross these great lands, settlin''n a "spot" then're quick to start changin' what made such beautiful'n the first place. Non-native plants 're quickly planted, yankin' out (most usually folks poison 'em these days...) the ones that've stood the test'f time. Unhappy with the grass that's present, such's plowed 'nder, reseeded'n that which we desire. Most oft, thirsty plants which need lots'f fussin' to maintain're what makes those yards akin to those'n the cover'f magazines.
I'm guilty'f such. When I planted my own roots here'n the Eastern High Plains'f New Mexico, I hungered fer the hills 'f Middle Tennessee. Lush trees, forests, plants that bloomed brilliantly 'n yes - water. To me such'd be most calmin'.
Haulin' rocks from 'cross the country, I take great delight'n my wee sanctuary. The vines that turn into a jungle quickly, the wind's 't whistles through the leaves. That mesmerizin' motion 'f watchin' high limbs 's they sway with the motion, the constant chatter'f the various birds, the rustle'n the leaf/pine needle litter below...such brings me peace.
But, such aint right. These lands're grasslands. No trees'f any sort're native to these parts where I hang my hat. I blamed my gluttony'n the folks who came 'fore me - the farmers who destroyed's much grassland's they could to plant 'n grow water hungry plants, thus depletin' all surface waters. Springs dried within the first few years'f 'em homesteadin' out here. What could be found 10 foot below the ground quickly 'came 100 foot. Now, 'tis nearly 420 foot to reach the sweet waters'f the aquifer we're blessed to've below the earths surface.
When one drives through town, ya see the waste'f 't all. Bermuda grass replacin' the buffalo, blue 'n black grama, western wheatgrass, plains lovegrass 'n a few others. The constant need fer waterin' 'n mowin' to keep such lookin' pristine. Toxic chemicals put down, either by spray'r granule, to kill off the native wildflowers - the first feast fer native bees, ladybugs 'n others. Anythin' to feed folks desire fer that "perfect green". Each seemin' to outdo the next with their lush lawns.
The Earth's fere'er changin', 'tis been so since the beginnin' 'f time. Folks find such hard to believe, Alaska once a lush tropical forest, where I hang my hat a swamp 't the edge'f the sea. Sometimes we need to take a few steps back'n see jest how intricately woven we're with our planet.