Horticulturalists Seek to Go Native on Interstates
NEWARK, Del. — For Americans on the move, a rest stop on the East Coast’s main drag, Interstate 95, seems an unlikely setting for a revolution. But to a growing number of horticulturalists the vegetation stretching beyond the gas pumps toward the highway median might as well be marching behind a fife and drum.
Dark green switchgrass stands four feet tall. Asters, amonsia with tiny blue flowers, and flowering white thoroughwort nestle there, in place of a simple lawn. Down the road, the cloverleaf for I-95 and Route 896 is filled with golden Indiangrass, its gossamer flowers riffling as trucks whiz by.
This is the meadow vista when Delaware was a colony, and before. Now these regional plantings are increasingly deployed by highway gardeners around the country who see themselves as heirs of an environmental Enlightenment. Their credo: get the mowers out of the 12 million acres of roadsides and median strips around the United States, and let the wildflowers and grasses grow.
In part as a frugal move — not mowing can save states tens of thousands of dollars each year — at least a dozen states including Colorado, Nebraska, Oregon, Texas, Tennessee, South Carolina, Vermont and Washington State , have increased their inventory of native plantings. Roadsides, they say, are the national front porch. Why, then, should they look like an English formal garden or a Scottish golf course? Why shouldn’t they mimic the land as it was before highways?
In the words of the University of Delaware horticulturist, Susan S. Barton, an adviser to the state’s Department of Transportation: “We’re doing it so when you’re driving around Delaware you know you’re in Delaware, not in the tropics.”
But the movement, which dates back well before Lady Bird Johnson’s beautification project, beginning before World War II in Midwestern states, has more heart than muscle. Roadsides fulfill a variety of engineering functions. They must provide clear lines of sight and easy drainage. As for aesthetics, a Delaware poll showed the public prizes neatness more than nativeness.
And so the native plant pushers must fight endless battles with their economic and aesthetic opponents — turf-grass vendors, lawnmower jockeys who make a living cutting 20-foot median swaths in the summer sun, or garden clubs that favor manicured beds of tulips, poppies and lilies over meadow grasses that can look downright blowsy.
Jeanette Carey, who with her husband, George, operates a farm in southern Delaware, said the native grasses “just look awful.”
Her husband, a state representative, said many neighbors complained after the median grasses grew tall. “There was nothing but weeds in the middle of the road. It should look like a lawn, mowed,” Ms. Carey said.
She added, “Everybody who called us said they travel, and all the other states look neat.”
Thomas Yoakum, an environmental manager with the Pennsylvania Department of Transportation, wants to give native grasses a chance. But some experiments, like the switchgrass planted near Bedford, Pa., on U.S. 30, left the general impression of a botched hair transplant.Jon Johnson, a research support associate with the Roadside Vegetation Management Project of the Pennsylvania State University, worries that during droughts, switchgrass is highly flammable, and a tossed cigarette butt could cause a road closure.
Other states have joined the native plant revolution, at least in theory. Over 5,000 species of wildflowers and grasses flourish along Texas roadsides. Nebraska has limited mowing on its right-of-ways, a practice that provided some wildlife habitat; in years of drought native grasses can be harvested to provide hay for the cattle industry.
As Jane Lareau of the South Carolina Coastal Conservation League put it, “I would love people to see things that are native, not a stupid poppy or canna lily.” But some states take more traditional tacks. North Carolina, for instance, plants acres of ox-eye daisies every year, though they are considered a noxious weed in other states. Tennessee, a western neighbor, has ox-eye daisies on its list of invasive plants and wants to be rid of it.
“Ox-eye daisies are the bane of my existence,” said Bonnie L. Harper-Lore, a Minnesota-based restoration ecologist for the Federal Highway Administration.
Derek C. Smith, a roadside environmental engineer in North Carolina, happily pleads guilty to daisy-pushing. His state’s highway vegetation program, paid for in part by fees from vanity license plates, is a source of great pride..
While native plants make up about one-third of the state’s inventory, compared with as little as 10 percent in the 1980s, Mr. Smith said, “our citizens like a lot of the nonnative plants, bright red poppies and the like.”
If the native plant advocates gain more traction, they can thank champions like Calvin Ernst, 66, a highly successful seed seller from Meadville, Pa. His shyness belies a canny eye for what will grow and what will sell, and a passion for taking the landscapes of his region near Lake Erie back to their roots, literally.
Years ago, Mr. Ernst was a proponent of a creeping, bushy plant with small leaves called crownvetch, which is now a staple of Pennsylvania highways, particularly in the Alleghenies. Highway engineers prize its ability to grow fast and to thrive in poor soils and on steep hillsides. When the Interstate System was being built in the 1960s and 1970s, Mr. Ernst found himself selling crownvetch around the country and making a tidy profit doing so.
That was then. Now crownvetch is a villain of native plant proponents, seen as an invasive bully whose presence discourages the growth of native flowers and shrubs. (Nonnative, or exotic plants, often have a biological edge over natives, since they often have fewer natural enemies.)
Ernst Conservation Seeds, where Mr. Ernst is the general partner, still sells crownvetch seeds to the state, but about three-quarters of its wares are now seeds for native plants, collected by hand from Appalachian forests or Carolina marshlands. On the Delaware stretch of Interstate 95, the seeds have blossomed into broom sedge, switchgrass and little bluestem grass.Ms. Barton, the horticulturist in Delaware, said that of the 13,414 acres that the Department of Transportation has planted, about 3 percent or about 425 acres are with native plants.
The biggest benefit for the state is potential savings on mowing. Native plants need to be left alone to grow to their full height.
On the nonnative areas, routine mowing eight times annually costs $162.72 an acre using state workers or $800 an acre using contractors. On the native plots, mowing once yearly costs $20.34 per acre with state personnel or $100 per acre with contractors, Ms. Barton said.
Joseph Wright, who runs the mowing program in southern Delaware, said his mowers have trouble digesting tall stands of native plants and often break down.
Where Mr. Wright does not mow, local farmers, like Fred Bennett, 82, in southern Delawaresometimes move in. “In front of my house I mow it every week,” Mr. Bennett said. “I like long hair on a woman but not on a man and not growing around my house.”



Jessica McGowan for The New York Times

Ed Alcock for The New York Times

Fred Dufour/Agence France-Presse — Getty Images

