We have a yard. The folks on t.v. have lawns. I could have a lawn if I wanted even though the Scotts Lawn Service website won't visit our zip code. I know what it would take to overcome the poor soil and intense shade. Loads of topsoil, a delivery of sod, and a vigilant watering/feeding schedule would do the trick. But instead, less through neglect and more by choice, our grass is sketchy and skritchy but the ornamentals are a source of delight.
If I was a lawn man, then I probably wouldn't waste time dividing hostas to fill entire beds. I wouldn't be startled that two hops vines have emerged and are already 2 feet high. There would be no space for tulips or iris or day lilies: instead of their thick pointy leaves, blades of grass would dominate the land surrounding our house. Of course it doesn't have to be that way and my work schedule would allow me the time to generate the type of lawn they show as botanical pornography between gardening shows on PBS television.
It won't win any contests, this yard of ours. What we have would not count for many people. But that is someone else problem and not mine. It is my yard and it offers challenges without becoming a battle. I pry out dandelions when I can but I don't use chemicals to choke them. Nevertheless, the yard has value to me because it suits me. It is mine and I can do (or not do) what I want. And if someone else wants to say that my puttering doesn't count or that I don't have a true lawn, then I'm okay with that.
There is something meaningful about having a yard that unfolds in unexpected ways. I don't really want to put in the effort to create a pefect lawn. Instead, I think its exciting when a clump of unidentifiable purple shafts unfold and reveal themselves to be columbine stems. That the sedum in the strip between the sidewalk and the street made it through the winter's abuse makes me smile. I don't buy garden products that include guarantees because I'm not somebody who feels cheated if I spend money on plants and they don't perform exactly as I wanted. Truth is, some of my favored plants, including some lilac bushes, the irises, and even the hostas, were all gifts or discards from others' yards. Want counts, then, is that I was able to make use of someone else's materials to generate something that not only distracts me on sunny spring days but actually catches the eyes of passers-by.
If I said I was going to create a lawn, then I'd be chagrined by our property. But it's my own time and money that has been invested so I am pleased by what has emerged. It would be different if I was trying to reap financial benefits in terms of cultivation and/or re-sale. However, it is a yard and a pretty obvious one at that. You don't own it and I never promised anything. For me it is for me -- and by that measure, it serves my needs pretty well.
If I was a lawn man, then I probably wouldn't waste time dividing hostas to fill entire beds. I wouldn't be startled that two hops vines have emerged and are already 2 feet high. There would be no space for tulips or iris or day lilies: instead of their thick pointy leaves, blades of grass would dominate the land surrounding our house. Of course it doesn't have to be that way and my work schedule would allow me the time to generate the type of lawn they show as botanical pornography between gardening shows on PBS television.
It won't win any contests, this yard of ours. What we have would not count for many people. But that is someone else problem and not mine. It is my yard and it offers challenges without becoming a battle. I pry out dandelions when I can but I don't use chemicals to choke them. Nevertheless, the yard has value to me because it suits me. It is mine and I can do (or not do) what I want. And if someone else wants to say that my puttering doesn't count or that I don't have a true lawn, then I'm okay with that.
There is something meaningful about having a yard that unfolds in unexpected ways. I don't really want to put in the effort to create a pefect lawn. Instead, I think its exciting when a clump of unidentifiable purple shafts unfold and reveal themselves to be columbine stems. That the sedum in the strip between the sidewalk and the street made it through the winter's abuse makes me smile. I don't buy garden products that include guarantees because I'm not somebody who feels cheated if I spend money on plants and they don't perform exactly as I wanted. Truth is, some of my favored plants, including some lilac bushes, the irises, and even the hostas, were all gifts or discards from others' yards. Want counts, then, is that I was able to make use of someone else's materials to generate something that not only distracts me on sunny spring days but actually catches the eyes of passers-by.
If I said I was going to create a lawn, then I'd be chagrined by our property. But it's my own time and money that has been invested so I am pleased by what has emerged. It would be different if I was trying to reap financial benefits in terms of cultivation and/or re-sale. However, it is a yard and a pretty obvious one at that. You don't own it and I never promised anything. For me it is for me -- and by that measure, it serves my needs pretty well.
1 comment:
Thanks for this reminder.
Nice yard.
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