A crew of yard workers made the rounds of the neighborhood this morning. One of the guys approached my gate. Of course, Max, my dog, went wild, salivating for some attention. He puts on a great act, but mainly desires to be told how handsome he is. They offered to clean up my lawn for me. As he did, there was just a slight snicker. I don’t have a lawn. I have a planting where a lawn used to be.
Two dogs ago, the redoubtable Shepherd Collie Toby loved to pee on the lawn that was there. We couldn’t persuade him to stop, and time would no grass would grow on the front lawn. In desperation, I threw in a variety of Toby-resistant, tolerant, or repellent plants. There were vinca, hollyhocks, peonies, lobelias, primroses, bridal wreaths, poppies, and many more. Oh, then there is the cherry tree, the peach, the dogwood, and more! During the growing season, a succession of floral displays unfolds. But neat it isn’t
So when the guy offered to clean it up, I laughed and explained how it came to look the way it did. Later in June, I’ll get the weed whacker out and carefully trim the vinca while leaving the other plantings alone. It’s not a task I’d entrust to someone unfamiliar with my unconventional gardening methods.
A Lawn Dies!
How, you may ask, at that time, did the dog have such a free run to do whatever he wished on the front lawn? We had just moved in, and the latch on the screen door was weak. Toby learned fast that all he had to do was jump on the door to unlatch it. Then away he would go, to relieve himself out front, marking his territory. He took a joyful pleasure in this.
I was involved in approximately a thousand projects within a house that had been an ignored rental property for twenty years. The kids’ rooms needed work. The wall-to-wall carpeting in the bathrooms and kitchen needed removal, and much ancient wallpaper needed to be removed. Toby took advantage of the fact that the latch was low on the priority list. And thus the lawn died.
I don’t think the guy believed me. Maybe he thought I was just a lazy landscaper. But that’s my story, and I’m stickin’ to it!
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Last year some guys came by and offered to clean up my front yard. They didn’t recognize my wildflower garden as a garden. I stopped them, “No! Not there!” They were shocked. It was clear that if ANY part of my yard needed their expert attention it as THAT part. The fun part of my front yard (for me) is the to alfalfa plants. They will take over. I will sell the hay. (huh?)
Around here in Central Mass alfalfa doesn’t “stay” in most of the fields. An old dairy farmer friend of mine said the soil many places isn’t right for it.
I’ve never heard the word “planting” used as a noun in that way, as in having a planting. Turns out we have a planting too, and I never knew! (That wasn’t supposed to rhyme.)
The world needs more areas with flowers and variety rather than useless lawns. Bravo 👏🏻