The Yard Keeper

I work hard; I’d fallen for the pitch that it’s better to own your home than to rent or lease one. I remember my father telling me: “A man’s home is his castle!” (I might have forgotten that, immediately after telling you this, he answered “Yes, Dear!” as he lumbered off to perform the next task on his Honey-Do list.)

Let’s fast-forward more than a few years…Here I sit, looking out my window onto my suburban demesne. It’s so comforting, watching…the grass die.

Despair starts to flood into my psyche, pushing my blood pressure up, before I remember that cigarettes, for all the bad they do, are still the cheapest anti-depressant on the open market. So, I refill my over-sized coffee mug, pick up the pack of those Evil Sticks, and sadly turn from the window. It didn’t start out like this, I remind myself. Things were going to be so very different…

“In heaven I yearn for knowledge, account all else inanity;
On earth I confess an itch for the praise of fools—that’s vanity.”

Robert Browning

When one purchases a home, one enters into a realm of fantasy and insanity. I know this to be true, for I am living that hell. Once, I had very simple tastes and a fair knowledge of my own skills and liabilities. For instance, I know in my heart of hearts that I am not now, and never shall be, a farmer. So, what’s the problem?

What I Wanted

I bought a home and, despite the condition of the ground surrounding it, or the dimensions of that parcel, I knew that, with a little [sic] money and a little [sic] effort, I would re-create the image of one of the great formal grounds of history. Such as that of Pitmedden Garden in Aberdeenshire, Scotland.

So, being the boomer that I am, I researched this thing called “yard,” for my only prior experiences with “yards” had been encapsulated by sullen, but respectful, relationships with a series of lawnmowers. And, since the new house sits amidst 0.6 acre of then-completely unarable land (thanks to the Builder’s First Rule of Engagement), I knew (and was advised by others) that I could, in fact, succeed handsomely [sic] and effortlessly [sic].

What I Did

After obtaining the necessary permissions to use dynamite in quantity sufficient to break up the clay, I hired a landscaper-contractor to (literally) plow up that clay in what would become my front and back yards. Then, my friendly contractor laid down a layer of topsoil to a depth of perhaps 0.14-inch, spread it around a bit, and told me “Good luck! as he hastily drove his tractor up onto his flatbed trailer, climbed into his Ford F350 and drove off far, far away.

So, I took out my trusty McLeod, a special rake-like tool originally developed to help forest fire crews scrap out fire breaks in burning forests, and graded and leveled to my heart’s content. Or, until the Sun got to me. (The Sun plays a greater role in this tale. But, later.) I coerced some (former) friends of mine to help me grade and level the topsoil/clay mixture. I even supplied them with McLeods—they didn’t have to bring their own…

The next parts were pretty easy, really. I spread out lots and lots of grass seed. I’d chosen a variety of fescue advertised to be tolerant of both Sun and shade and resistant to drought. (Drought?) Atop that, I spread out straw, for reasons that escape me now.

What I Didn’t Do

I know that this is expected of me, by my neighbors and our friendly Homeowners Association, but I have not Called in the Yard Saviours. When you contract with a suburban landscaping company, you give them unfettered access to your bank account for no apparent reason. What? Can a landscaper dispel drought? Lower the humidity? Turn those gully-washer storms into day-long drizzle? No. They’ll bring out their tank trucks and drench your ground with liquid fertilizers, herbicides, and pesticides. I work too hard for the money I receive to just throw it away to landscapers or cell phone companies. (Okay, that’s another story, too.)

What I Got

Grass dryer and browner than that pictured in this image, which is supposedly representative of a drought-stressed yard.

I got a yard that boasts the creeping tentacles of Bermuda grass, a variety for which I have no use, but that must be a good reason to pick up the closest bottle of Wild Turkey.

Newsflash: Tropical Storm Hanna dropped upon my region much much-needed rain as I wrote this last year. So, that which was dormant (dying) was (temporarily) revived. Including the Bermuda and Crab grass plots in my plat.

A Few Errors Of Judgement

Despite the fact that I am a Southerner, and despite the fact that I have (for now) settled in or by a Southern city, I apparently forgot about the Southern climate. I remembered the climate enough to order my home built with not one, but two, air conditioners (upstairs/downstairs). Yet, when I went about “planning” the yard, I forgot about…heat, humidity, downpours from electrical storms, and drought.

I also (I guess) forgot about the wind and breezes (when they occur) and how they carry seeds. Including grass seeds. Seeds of grasses I did not wish to take up residence in “my” “yard.” Grasses such as Bermuda and Crab. (Don’t chastise me for not giving their Latin names. Latin names bespeak a certain sophistication and distinction that are not deserved by these grasses.)

What Was I Thinking?

I do not know. I fell into society’s trap:

Americans…worship their suburban lawns. In their quest for a perfect patch of green, homeowners devote countless hours to mowing, edging, feeding and weeding. During the hottest summer months, Americans sprinkle with abandon, pouring water on top of a potent mix of herbicides, pesticides and fertilizer.

The Green American Dream, Michael Noer

It’s vanity, pure and simple. Oh, it’s not vanity to care for your residence and property. It is vanity, though, to work toward creating a yard worthy of Versailles. Throwing down fertilizer every two-three months, spreading pesticides in the yard; all for what? I mean, some bugs are good for the grounds, and we can learn to live with the others.

• You don't like ants? Ants and earthworms break up the clay your builder left you. What’s wrong with that?
• You don’t like clover in your yard? Why not? Do you think clover is a weed? It looks great, feels great, stays green with a lot less water than grass, and requires no fertilizer. Yeah, clover is really, really bad.
• You like to water that yard? Especially when the local utility raises the water rates and another drought hits your region.

My New (Newly Rediscovered) Ideal

I have reverted to my original definitions of “yard:”

1. Meadow
2. Pasture

No, I wouldn’t attempt to legislate my preference to force anyone to my thinking. I hope, at least, that more and more others take a longer, harder look at what all of us do to ourselves and our prodigy with these yards of ours. Many local farmers have moved to “no-till” agriculture and are using less fertilizer and pesticides than before. Not us homeowners, though. We flock to hardware stores and nurseries to purchase more fertilizer, lay down single-specie grass seed, and lay out the pesticides to eradicate Japanese beetles and other bugs. Oh, and we’re not satisfied with native species in our gardens, either. We plant annuals, and we plant non-natives in our gardens.

Am I Guilty of Specie-ism?

Yes, in a word. Guilty, guilty, guilty. Why?

• Remember the American chestnut? Of course not—we imported Asian chestnut around the turn of the 20^th Century; trees that resisted the Chestnut Blight. Today, most I meet cannot recognize an American chestnut if they walk by one. And, you will find them, growing from the roots of their dead predecessors until they mature. Then, the blight gets them. Death by canker; it’s not pretty.
• Let’s sing the praises of…kudzu. Yes, what a brilliant idea was that: import kudzu from Japan to control erosion of road and stream banks. I’d like, sometimes, to find the fellow, Channing Cope, who dreamed that one up and tie him down in a lush field of kudzu and stand back. To watch the kudzu grow over him. Shouldn’t take long: a couple of hours, at least.
• Do you like oaks and other hardwood trees? So do gypsy moths, another foreign transplant. When you drive through Shenandoah National Park on the Skyline Drive, you can easily spot the acres and acres of dead and dying hardwoods, stripped of their leaves by bazillions of hungry gypsy moths.

Other transplanted species include the woolly adelgid, an arthropod that has murdered large stands of Frasier Fir and hemlock. Then, there’s the “Tree of Heaven” —Ailanthus, that someone imported from Asia. Thick stands of it have taken over acres of land, particularly recently cleared or forested land. It is almost impossible to eradicate.

What Is Wrong With…

Native plants and grasses? A yard with switch- or Indian grass, clover, native wildflowers, dandelions is is not a bad yard. It’s a yard neighborhood children (and yours) can play in without regard to pesticides.

(Oh, those commercial pesticides will not rid your ground of ticks, spiders, and wasps. Not unless you put down a really, really serious dose of the stuff. And, when you do that, you’ll have to dress in a space suit and walk out breathing through a respirator to protect yourself from the chemicals. If they will kill or harm you, what do they do to the watershed and your household pets, too?)

But, take a minute and think on this: a yard that’s both colorful and green. A yard that doesn’t alarm your friendly [sic] homeowner’s association or tell those who pass by that your house needs to be replaced with a double-wide trailer. A yard that won’t eat up most of your summer paychecks.

Think meadow.

Or, pasture.

Want to read a helpful document on lawn care? Try this: Common-Sense Lawn Care.