Two posts in a week, I know. Crazy. But I just couldn’t help myself.
Okay, this is a rant about lawns. Those of you who aren’t into that sort of thing, or who don’t want a laugh to two at my expense, might just want to wander elsewhere.
I’m writing this just after weed whacking the front lawn. I’m sweaty and covered with tiny pieces of grass from head to boots. It’s our only lawn. I let it go a couple of weeks, okay maybe three, even four and it got too long to use the push mower.
I’m not a lawn person. I hate lawns. I thing they’re a waste of resources, mostly mine. I didn’t always feel this way. At one point I thought it might have some potential. I thought, okay, we’ll keep just a small piece of lawn out the front door.
So, several years ago we dug up the front lawn, which is about thirty feet by fifteen feet, tops. We did everything right for this area. We composted all the grass, took out all the rocks (which says a lot, since we have tons and tons of rocks) and mixed in six inches of compost. Then we leveled and reseeded with an eco-lawn mix. Everything began to grow, looking lovely and flat.
Then the moles looked over and said, “Whoo hoo! Compost means worms, boys. Let’s go.” Within one night the entire space had been overturned. And was lumpy. We ignored it, letting the rest of the grass and wildflowers grow in. Then cut it when appropriate. But the lumps remained. They’re still there. That’s when I completely gave up on lawn as a possibility for our space here. I declared war on the grass.
It gets watered, but only because I’m watering other plants out there. I mow it or whack it when I think about it. I never fertilize it. It’s filled with buttercups and every other weed in the vicinity. And one of these years, when we have enough time and energy, the whole bloody thing’s going. Into the compost bins. And it’ll be patio!
Which probably won’t keep the moles away. So the cats need to step up their game. But that’s another story.