Leave the Leaves. I Mean It.

Every fall, I watch the leaf blowers come out. Neighbors spend entire weekends removing what is, ecologically speaking, the most valuable layer of their entire property. I understand the impulse. I used to feel it too.

But here's what's in that leaf litter: the overwintering eggs and pupae of hundreds of moth and butterfly species. The larvae of fireflies, ground beetles, and native bees. The food that American Robins, Eastern Towhees, Hermit Thrushes, and White-throated Sparrows are actively searching for when they scratch through your beds in October and November.

When you bag those leaves and put them at the curb, you're not cleaning up your yard. You're removing the foundation of the food web that your birds depend on.

What I do at 15 Hillside Road: I move the leaves. I don't remove them. The leaves from the lawn go under the shrubs, into the planting beds, into the corners where the native grasses can hold them. They break down over winter, feeding the soil, feeding the fungi, feeding the invertebrates that feed the birds.

The only leaves I remove are the ones on the lawn itself — because a thick mat of leaves on turf will kill the grass. But even those I shred with the mower and leave in place as mulch. Nothing leaves the property if I can help it.

Doug Tallamy calls this "ecological housekeeping." The idea is that a yard can look tended and still function as habitat. You don't have to choose between a beautiful garden and a living one. You just have to understand what "clean" actually costs.

This fall, try leaving at least one corner of your yard untouched. Put a sign in it if you want: "Wildlife Habitat in Progress." Watch what finds it by March.