Letting the land lead: Natural regeneration in Patrick’s garden

I visited Gardens for Wildlife member Patrick on his Port Sorell block in early summer, when the first signs of warmer weather were beginning to stir.

He had asked me to phone when I arrived, as he might be out the back. Standing on a two-acre block that had been completely slashed just over a decade ago, I assumed I’d be able to see him easily, but I was greeted with an expanse of diverse, layered vegetation, so I picked up the phone.

Before I found Patrick, the wildlife was already making itself known. Striated pardalotes, grey fantails and thornbills moved through the shrubs. I heard a rustle near the house, a clumsy noise like a puppy scrapping around. A young bandicoot exploded out of the undergrowth, looked at me as if to say, “what are you doing here?!”, spun around a few times and shot away again.

Natural regeneration, eleven years on

Patrick tells me that the back fence borders a conservation area that runs to the estuary, less than two kilometres away. The property’s native shrubs, heath, herbs, rushes and trees – now several metres tall – represent about eleven years of growth.

When he arrived, the land had been slashed but, importantly, not grazed or ‘improved’ so the seed bank was intact. Apart from the odd self-propagated blackwood and two showy non-native bottlebrushes, all of it is natural regeneration.

“We used to get more rain,” he says. “In the first few winters there was standing water. Then the juncus, which was thick in sodden areas, died back and a succession of trees came up through it.”

The soil is sandy on top, with hard clay around 800 millimetres down – something Patrick quickly discovered with a post-hole digger.  Growth has been uneven: some areas regenerated quickly, while others, particularly at the front of the property, have been slower. In places, though, you could mistake it for remnant woodland that was naturally disturbed and had bounced back.

“There was a hollow underneath the back fence where wallabies went through, so I widened it. Now the pademelons have enough cover to stay on the property. I can have a dozen around the house at once.”

Letting the land lead

When the wetter areas were dominated by juncus, they supported large numbers of invertebrates. As those areas have shifted towards shrubs and trees, the insect life has changed too, but diversity remains high.

Paths through the garden were created gradually. Patrick let the regrowth come up and watched where natural paths formed, preferring not to remove trees or larger shrubs. Bracken fern has been managed with a brush cutter. Some trees are thinning naturally while Patrick selectively cuts others.

“When I thin trees, I don’t cut them at ground level. I leave about a metre. They rot over a couple of years, and the height provides a useful lever making them easier to push over later.”

Those standing trunks also become perches for birds that prefer some height.

Seed is collected locally to maintain provenance. Some species, like banksia, have performed better than expected; others have been slower.

Invertebrate photos by Patrick Calmels.

Paying attention

Patrick points to the thick understorey. “This is what it’s like before I take the bracken fern out. It’s thick.”

Managing it means disturbing spiders too – lots of them. There are juveniles everywhere. Now, with the warmer weather, the insects are starting to emerge too.

Invertebrate photography wasn’t central to Patrick’s interest in the land but developed quietly as the native plants returned. Apart from remnant peppermint gums and a handful of blackwoods grown from locally collected seed, the property became covered in low regrowth – ideal habitat for insects and for watching them closely.

“When I first got here, I lived in a shed while I built the house. I had time to look. There was a lot of life – insects and spiders everywhere. Most of it was low down.”

Before the visit, I was lucky enough to see his collection of insect and spider photographs taken on the property. The numbers are impressive. Around 785 spider images and more than 2,000 insect photographs. Many are single shots, with a few sequences. A jumping spider overpowering prey several times its size. A cicada emerging from its exoskeleton. Moments recorded simply because he was there, watching. Across the collection are hundreds of species, captured at close range.

When I asked whether he’d ever counted how many species he had photographed over the years, Patrick laughed.

“People often ask me that,” he said. “I’m not a scientist. I’m just a photographer.”

To him, the images are a by-product of time spent paying attention rather than something to catalogue or measure.

A small pond nearby supports frogs, including banjo frogs and tree frogs. There are plenty of mosquito larvae for the tadpoles to eat, and so far, the white-faced herons have left them alone.

Birds use the space in different ways. Smaller species prefer bird baths with nearby cover, while parrots favour the open. Two non-native bottlebrushes, standing out against the natives with their showy flowers, draw in eastern spinebills, and honeyeaters.

A broader philosophy

Patrick’s approach – observation, patience and minimal impact – extends beyond the garden. He values self-sufficiency and has a thriving veggie patch. He reclaims materials when building anything new. He also repairs bicycles of many kinds, even building them from scratch.

“I love not having to buy stuff if I don’t have to.”

That same philosophy applies to the garden, where Patrick burns removed bracken fern to make biochar, using a setup he built himself rather than purchasing equipment.

Wildlife continues to return. Antechinus cross the garden. Potoroos appear occasionally. Snakes pass through. The system is ever-changing, but stable.

Before arriving at Patrick’s place, there were signs of recent native vegetation clearing in the region, likely for subdivisions. Passing them again on my way home, it felt like going back in time, imagining what his property once looked like. Properties like Patrick’s, alongside places such as TLC’s Rubicon Sanctuary, are becoming increasingly important. Within the wider Port Sorell and northwest coast area, many landholders have been participating in voluntary conservation programs supported by the Tasmanian Land Conservancy, and we hope to see these communities grow.

Patrick’s garden shows what can happen when nature’s existing, albeit dormant, resources are observed and supported to bounce back. By relying on the seed bank, working slowly, and keeping intervention minimal, natural regeneration has provided habitat that now sits comfortably alongside the surrounding reserve.

Emma McPhee

Banner photo by Patrick Calmels