Having trouble with stiltgrass? Instead of waging war, look for the bright spots. My favorite: a native grass called nimblewill.

Most conservationists and gardeners see Japanese stiltgrass as a scourge, an invader of habitat that runs roughshod over native plants in forests and meadows across the Eastern U.S. I’ve learned to see it as an opportunity.

Don’t get me wrong; I don’t encourage stiltgrass, which was accidentally introduced to this continent about a century ago, probably in packing material for porcelain. But nor do I kill it with fire, poisons or constant cutting—for one simple reason: Those methods would harm not just the animals hiding among the grasses but also the other species of plants growing underneath and alongside them, namely a native grass called nimblewill.

A narrower-leaved and more delicate-looking plant, nimblewill (Muhlenbergia schreberi) likes the same conditions as stiltgrass (Microstegium vimineum)—semi-shade and moisture. It has proven to be a strong ally in holding the ground against its invasive companion, perhaps gaining its competitive advantage through its longevity: Though both grasses reseed and root around, stiltgrass is an annual and nimblewill is a perennial. As it starts to reclaim the land, it also feeds grazing herbivores, birds, and insects.

Despite its benefits and faunal fans, you’ll find few admirers among mainstream human sources. The Lawn Care Academy website calls nimblewill “a wiry, upright growing perennial grass … considered an invasive weed that invades lawns, flowerbeds, and gardens.” Last year on social media, a garden radio show was more alarmist, posting photos of nimblewill during its winter dormancy phase along with a plug for an herbicide: “WANTED DEAD: A white/brown straw grass known as nimblewill. Do not fear when your lawn comes in contact—it will green up and you can get rid of it with Tenacity. WARNING: Normal weed killer will not work. You’ve been warned.”

Many extension services pile on, recommending numerous ways to kill nimblewill; the website here in Maryland doesn’t even mention that it’s a native grass. In a creative twist, Ohio State chastises nimblewill for entering human-dominated domains: “Nimblewill naturally occurs in open woodlands and stream bottomlands. It has moved out of these native habitats, and can be a problem in agronomic crops, where it tolerates some grass herbicides.”

Nice try, but how can a plant that is native to this land move out of its own habitat? We aren’t talking about lesser celandine or multiflora rose or autumn olive, species that were intentionally imported and are now costing significant amounts of time and money to remove. We’re talking about the opposite phenomenon—a native plant that can thrive in the human-built and disturbed environment, and one that costs us nothing but a shift in perspective to let live.

Why all the hate, once again, for one of the many plants indigenous to most of the U.S. and Ontario?

I’ve been able to find no evidence that nimblewill actually harms anyone or any habitat, unless you consider a manicured golf course a habitat. The Horse magazine is the most straightforward in identifying the real issue: “The plant turns brown in winter, and many horse pasture managers consider it unsightly.” Penn State further explains that nimblewill is “one of the most troublesome grassy weeds out there” because it disrupts the obsessive American aesthetic of turf-at-all-costs: “After the snow melts and everybody gets antsy for spring to arrive, we start to notice the not-so-green parts of the lawn. … The circular straw-colored patches of dormant nimblewill are very noticeable from early fall to late spring. The patches start small and round, but can eventually spread over most of the lawn area.”

I lose my color in winter too. Does that mean I need to be sprayed? Why are we investing so much time and money in turfgrass instead of appreciating the natural cycles of the seasons? And for all the maligning of nimblewill’s loss of green when the temperatures dip, there’s usually no mention of the fact that, when lawns start to look peaked in the high heat of July, nimblewill is at its prettiest, shining a greenish-blue hue in the morning dew and coming into its own summer glory.

After I first observed nimblewill in our habitat, it took a while to identify and even longer to find a reliable source with any information about its value. In the University of Georgia Extension guide Native Plants for Georgia Part IV:  Grasses and Sedges, a profile of nimblewill mentioned its helpfulness in suppressing Japanese stiltgrass. That was all the encouragement I needed to start my experiment.

Since then, I’ve recruited nimblewill to crowd out stiltgrass in several large areas, lending a helping hand by pulling out remaining bits of stiltgrass that crop up. Joining the effort and occupying the space companionably are other native groundcovers—violets, white avens, golden ragwort, green-and-gold, enchanter’s nightshade, ferns, sea oats—as well as shrubs and taller wildflowers.

As winter creeps in, the drying-out blades of nimblewill create a blanket, protecting the new shoots of suckering elderberry. They also nurse new seedlings of shrubby St. John’s wort and other offspring of nearby plants. Though the straw-colored grass may look out of place in landscapes dominated by the forced green of cool-season turf species from other parts of the world, in our habitat it’s truly at home. Among the warm-season Maryland grasses and forbs that sleep through the cold months, nimblewill fits right in, as if it has always been here—likely because it has.

When bringing life back to an eroded landscape, it can be easy to fall into the trap of focusing on everything that’s going wrong. If you’ve ever volunteered for an invasive plant pull at your local park, you know the drill: Show up in long pants with your favorite pair of gloves in your pocket, learn what scourge of the moment you’ll be removing that day, spend a few hours cursing its name while yanking and cutting, feel vaguely triumphant when you look at the big empty space that’s left in the wake of your labors, and then come back a couple of weeks later to find it all filled in again with another plant that’s just as harmful to wildlife habitat.

It’s not that these volunteer invasive-pull days aren’t important. But they can easily backfire, because most of the time we don’t learn about what plants to keep. I know quite a few people who are far more familiar with invasive species in local woodlands than they are with our treasured natives. Many of these forgotten plants are still there, but few of us take the time to learn their names.

To avoid burning out our spirits and the land, we need to switch it up, spending just as much time nurturing plants that nourish wildlife and heal the environment as we do pulling the ones that don’t. I’m far from the first one to articulate a more life-giving strategy. In the 1970s, an Australian named Joan Bradley wrote a guide to reversing course, Bringing Back the Bush. “We are concentrating not on eradicating weeds but on enabling native plants to grow, unhampered, in an environment that suits them best,” she advised. Describing her evolution in thought, she continued: “We began to understand that there might be another way to fight invaders. Given half the chance, the bush would fight back on its own behalf.”

It’s a way to look for the bright spots, a concept explained in the book Switch: How to Change Things When Change Is Hard, which highlights the story of another forgotten and maligned plant that ended up improving the lives of thousands of malnourished children in Vietnam. Several organizations had already tried to push their own agendas for helping, without asking questions and observing local cultures. Then one group took the opposite tack, looking for what was already working. To their surprise, some of the healthiest children came from the poorest families. But they also had the smartest mothers, who were supplementing rice with nutrient-rich sweet potato greens, a food considered low-class by wealthier villagers. Through outreach and cooking instruction, the mothers of the healthy children helped change attitudes, reaching 2 million people across Vietnam.

Nimblewill has become my sweet potato green, my “low-class” grass that flies in the face of the culture’s obsession with lawns, which are nutrient-poor for wildlife and unhealthy for the environment. It’s the bright spot among the old turf, a symbol of what’s still going right in a landscape gone wrong in the hands of humans for so many years. Nimblewill is one of many native plants that can help us feed and shelter wildlife while ending the fruitless cycle of mowing, fertilizing, and spraying.

Though deer are often blamed for the spread of Japanese stiltgrass, they also spread nimblewill, as do other animals, including us. How much more could we accomplish if we stopped scapegoating and started examining our own harmful practices and reactionary decisions? If we started to look for the bright spots in the lifeless turf and thanked our wild friends for helping to spread them? It takes a bit of patience, and I’ll be the first to admit that I haven’t eliminated Japanese stiltgrass and probably never will. But as I’ve reduced the presence of both stiltgrass and turfgrass, I’ve tipped the scales toward much more habitat for wildlife. In a way, the invasive plant has been a primary driver of that conversion, introducing me to natives that no one else seemed to know or care about. If it weren’t for stiltgrass, I would never have made the acquaintance of nimblewill, one of the many treasures lying beneath the old lawn, just waiting for someone to notice and appreciate it.

Tips for Starting Your Nimblewill Experiment

If you live where nimblewill grows naturally and Japanese stiltgrass is invasive, you can try these strategies for giving the native species an edge. If you live in another region, you may find some of this advice helpful when using natives to crowd out different invasives. The key is to observe, experiment, and be open to learning from the plants themselves—they always have something new to teach us.

Get to know nimblewill and stiltgrass.

Nimblewill is invasive in California but native to 40 states. To find out if you live in its natural range, check the Ladybird Johnson Wildflower Center’s native plant database or the Biota of North America Program. Find photos and species profiles at Illinois Wildflowers and Native Plants for Georgia IV: Grasses and Sedges.

Though various sources say nimblewill looks like Japanese stiltgrass, creeping bentgrass and Bermuda grass, it doesn’t look like any of those species to me. Once you see them side by side, you’ll likely agree. And though both plants are shallow-rooted, stiltgrass is even more so, making it easy to pull, especially after a soaking rain.

Look for patterns where stiltgrass grows.

Observing where these plants choose to spread can help you encourage nimblewill while reducing stiltgrass. In our habitat, stiltgrass and invasive mock strawberry (Potentilla indica) appear to be best friends; the mock strawberry leafs out first and leaves spaces for the stiltgrass to sprout. I pull as much as I can and replace quickly with native groundcovers, or I allow nearby volunteers, such as violets (a great competitor for mock strawberry) to spread.

Stiltgrass also seeds near remaining clumps of turf, so when I come upon those, I dig them out by hand too. In the shade they eventually die off on their own, so if you’re working in an area where the canopy is increasing, you likely won’t have a whole sea of turf to excavate.

Plant and nurture other competitors.

Many vigorous groundcovers—golden ragworts, violets, Robin’s plantain, green-and-gold, jewelweed and clearweed—do a fabulous job of holding the ground and even outcompeting stiltgrass. But nothing compares to sea oats (Chasmanthium latifolium), which thrives in part-shade. If you have the space, adding just a few near a patch of stiltgrass may help you gain ground fairly quickly; each year I have many more sea oats than stiltgrasses in the area where I’ve planted them.

Let nimblewill fill bare spots among plantings.

In a corner of the front yard where a mini-woodland of hickories, tulip poplars, walnuts, spicebushes, elderberries and possumhaw viburnums surround a meadow-type clearing, I’ve encouraged nimblewill to grow among recently planted wildflowers. As it covers bare ground quickly, it increases the buffet offerings and confers a kind of protective effect around young plants that rabbits and deer find tasty. Experiment in your own habitat, and you might notice different benefits that no one else has recorded before.

Spot-mulch bare areas where you’ve pulled stiltgrass.

If you’re pulling patches of stiltgrass and you don’t have volunteer natives nearby to help fill the space quickly, you can either replant right away with vigorous native groundcovers or spot-mulch the bare patches with leaves, wood mulch, or pulled stiltgrass (as long as the stiltgrass hasn’t started to flower yet). I like to transplant volunteer violets and other natives from our pathways and into the bare ground.

Use a trimmer in areas where taller natives are gaining an edge.

Last summer, in one area of the backyard, behind an abandoned vegetable garden, I noticed  horseweed (Conyza canadensis), a native, sprouting around the edges along with stiltgrass and nimblewill. It was too hot and dry to pull, and the plants were tall by then, so I asked my husband to trim the stiltgrass instead. This year the shadiest spot of the patch is covered in nimblewill, and horseweed has filled in the area that gets the most afternoon light. Nearby, I recently planted two more great spreaders, common milkweed rescued from the roadside and Virginia sweetspires. Where the stiltgrass still grows here, I pull by hand and also use my quiet, battery-operated hand trimmer. Ironweed has started to appear in the patch, something that would never have happened if we’d simply mowed this whole section. Now I’m looking forward to what new surprises the next season brings!

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Photos: Nancy Lawson/Humane Gardener