Maintenance is a Mindset
Is maintenance or mindset the biggest barrier to urban agriculture?
In late November 2025, I attended an open house hosted by our municipal parks department to solicit community feedback on the redesign of three neighborhood parks. As I walked in, I was greeted by friendly faces, directed to the registration table, and given instructions: watch a short presentation in the room to the right, then share comments on boards set up on easels in the room to the left.
Having spent a brief time as a planner, I had a pretty good sense of what the presentation would say - and I knew why I was there. As an advocate of urban agriculture, I wanted to ensure that edible plants – fruit trees, shrubs, perennial herbs, and dare I say it – raised beds – were at least considered for one of the parks (preferably all three).
I headed to the room on the left. As I moved from easel to easel, writing my request on sticky notes and placing them on the boards again and again, I struck up conversations with park staff, eventually speaking with the park manager and parks director.
Everyone I spoke with was familiar with the nonprofit I am proud to serve and expressed genuine enthusiasm for urban agriculture. But they raised the same concern.
They would love to incorporate more food production into parks, but who would maintain it?
The municipality does not have the staff or budget to care for foodscapes. Fruit would fall to the ground, attracting rodents or creating slipping hazards. End of story.
Just two days earlier, I attended a Climate Community Toolkit focus group. There, I met an incredible woman who led a project to plant 40 fruit trees and shrubs at a school in a marginalized neighborhood. The planting was complete, and the trees and shrubs survived the drought of summer. Now she was looking for people to advise on – you guessed it – maintenance.
I have been thinking about the maintenance of foodscapes for seven years.
More than seven years ago, while earning my master’s degree in landscape architecture, I was taking the second of three courses on tectonics (grading and earth shaping). Our semester-long project was to redesign a neighborhood park. The brief included parking for 20-25 cars, a restroom building with four gender-neutral units, sidewalks and drives, at least 20% new vegetative cover, and consideration of stormwater collection.
At the time, I had just begun exploring fruit trees, so I decided to include an orchard in my design. There was a significant east-facing slope - perfect for terracing and I designed a system of berms and channels to direct and hold water for the trees. Mid-semester, I proudly shared my concept plan with my professor.
He asked: How will this be maintained?
I remember looking at him quizzically.
Maintenance? They had space, sun, and water - what else could they need? I’d been apple picking and hiking in forests. Aside from occasional pruning or tree trimming, I’d never seen maintenance. It never occurred to me how much work happens behind the scenes.
My professor’s question sent me down a rabbit hole.
I began researching and quickly realized how much I had overlooked: pollination, soil health and nutrients, pest and disease management, pruning, and harvesting. Through that research, I discovered permaculture and the concept of guilds – a community of plants sharing their strengths to be self-maintaining. I also began to adopt an ethos of stewardship and build a maintenance mindset.
My research has continued for seven years and will likely continue for as long as I am growing food.
Over the past year, I have been thinking more intentionally about how we tackle the challenge of maintenance – and I’m not alone. Designers and practitioners who work with native and food-producing plants are increasingly centering maintenance as a core design concern.
So why is maintenance so challenging?
It requires intention, skill, knowledge, time, and ownership. It’s work that is never finished – season after season, year after year. Landscapes are ever-changing. Plants die, turning shady spots into sunny ones; plants grow, turning sunny spots into shady ones. Droughts, intense rainfalls, hailstorms, and unusually hot or cold temperatures stress plants and systems. Disease outbreaks and pest infestations demand observation, curiosity, and tenacity to diagnose and resolve.
Much of this work is invisible. When it’s done well, nothing appears to be happening, so its value is often overlooked. Too often, maintenance is reactive rather than proactive.
Two recent articles in Landscape Architecture Magazine (LAM) brought this challenge into sharper focus for me.
The November 2024 article Working Over Time highlighted the Continued Landscape Maintenance program offered by Hoerr Schaudt, which includes seasonal walkthroughs to evaluate maintenance strategies in place and identify recommendations with detailed instructions so the property steward can complete the maintenance themselves or outsource it to others.
The February 2025 article Future Planning introduced Ecological Design Group (EDG)’s sister company, Native Restoration and Management (NRM). Their approach begins with the end in mind: designers and maintenance teams collaborate early and embed maintenance strategies into the design. Maintenance plans, checklists, and training support the long-term action.
And ultimately, that’s the point.
Maintenance isn’t an afterthought.
Maintenance isn’t just a budget line item.
Maintenance is a mindset.
Maintenance must be part of the design, implementation, and ongoing stewardship of a foodscape.