It’s been a little over a year since I moved in here and it seems like I should have accomplished so much more by now. Yet when I think back on the months that have slipped by, I spent a lot of time unpacking and sorting and finding places for all the things that spilled from boxes and bags all over the place. And the yard isn’t quite what it was when I moved in. There are more flower beds, a bit less grass. I’ve stuck to my conviction to do it my way – organically, in harmony with the natural world around me, even if a part of that world, the lawn my father spent over 50 years cultivating, is at the top of my It’s Gotta Go list.
Why? I admit the lawn is gorgeous when mowed to glistening green perfection, but then it rains and the sun shines and the lawn becomes too wild for my likes – shaggy, unruly, something Dad (a man who proudly mowed twice a week in peak grass growing season) never would have let happen. That left me with limited options: mow the nearly acre sized monster (requiring most of my free time), hire someone to do it or make the lawn something more manageable by making it gone. Or at least mostly gone. There is, after all, nothing like walking barefoot on a hot summer day through the freshly cut grass, deeply inhaling that wonderful fragrance. So there must always remain some part, just about enough to mow to the point of feeling virtuous. As for the rest, the possibilities are boundless – trees, shrubs, annuals, perennials, and on and on.
Now the lawn-that-was is spotted with a dozen dwarf fruit trees, as many blueberry bushes, and ever increasing beds of flowers and herbs. Oh, and veggies, too, to be sure all the senses are satisfied. Yet the massive expanse of the lawn remains, ever trying to retake ground claimed for planting beds. Mulch has become my ally, bags brought home by the Jeep full, a soft brown carpet to replace the green. Trays of plants wait beneath the crimson maple tree. And the grass grows.
No comments:
Post a Comment