mowing is like vacuuming…

I don’t have many oppor­tu­ni­ties to mow the lawn. I’ve basi­cally told John that the day he can’t keep up with the grass will be the day I break into the Mon­santo fac­tory and abscond with all the Roundup they have and then apply it to the lawn. There’s lots of other ways I’d rather use the space.

The day has come. John had some work done on a foot and will be hob­bling around for a cou­ple months. The grass, how­ever, well-watered from the Jan­u­ary and Feb­ru­ary rains, didn’t stop grow­ing, and it was time to have the con­ver­sa­tion.

Well, in the end, I’m embar­rassed to say that I caved, rea­son­ing that he should be back to push­ing the mower around in a few weeks, and now isn’t the best sea­son to think of plant­ing some­thing that will require water to keep it going through the dry sum­mer and fall ahead. Besides, John really likes his lit­tle patch of lawn, and he lets me have my way with most of the rest of the garden.

So I popped some allergy tablets and pulled out the elec­tric mower and headed for the patch of grass. Back and forth I went over the brown­ing green sur­face. Back and forth, back and forth. It’s weirdly med­i­ta­tive, like vac­u­um­ing, I decided, only with a device that can chop off your toes.

My diverse lawn

As I took down the seed heads it was a chance to look at this what we call a lawn. It’s never been a fanat­i­cally main­tained piece of green, and fea­tures lit­tle colonies of Saint Augus­tine, Bermuda, rye, clover and what­ever other species the wind has deliv­ered. The bio­log­i­cal diver­sity of this patch would do the Ama­zon proud and drive any single-species lawn fanatic to distraction.

The cat, last fall, shak­ing off the thatch from the lawn. This is inside the house, of course.

By mid-summer it’ll go mostly brown as we cut back on water­ing to con­tinue with our water con­ser­va­tion. At that point, fac­ing four to six months of brown, four to six months of thatch being tracked into the house every time you walk across the gar­den, that’ll be when we might con­tinue our dis­cus­sion with whether we might want to do some­thing else with this patch of prime gar­den real estate.

What­ever we decide, you can rest assured that we will not be installing the plas­tic turf that’s get­ting to be a pop­u­lar gar­den sur­face around town. In fact, I like that stuff so lit­tle I’ve started my very first Face­book group, Plas­tic Turf Must Die!!!!!! As far as I’m con­cerned far­dens are about life and grow­ing things, and this stuff is as dead and cheesy as any­thing out there. If you’re any sort of joiner and hate the stuff your­self, join the group!

March 31 2010 | Categories: gardeningmy garden | Tags: | 7 Comments »

lawn reform

Susan from Blue Planet Gar­den Blog dropped me a note about a new ini­tia­tive she was involved in. Lawn Reform, a col­lab­o­ra­tion of nine blog­gers from around the US, is try­ing to reshape how we all think about lawns and their roles in gardens.

If you’re not already out there cry­ing, “Kill your lawn” (or at least some­thing like “Reduce the size of your lawn”) the site lists six good rea­sons to think again about the green mon­ster out­side your house, “Pol­luted Water­ways,” “Pesticide-Treated Lawns that are Toxic to Humans and Pets,” “Guz­zling of Water, a Resource in Short Sup­ply,” “Single-Species Mono­cul­tures that Pro­vide Noth­ing for Wildlife,” “Fre­quent Mow­ing, with Air Pol­lu­tion” and “Overtreated and Over­wa­tered Lawns that Waste $$ and Keep Ask­ing for More.”

To that list I’d add a more philo­soph­i­cal rea­son to rethink a green expanse, the idea that a lawn rep­re­sents some weird macho dom­i­na­tion of all things nat­ural, that nature isn’t accept­able to live with until it’s been chopped to smithereens and reshaped into some­thing that’s a pale imi­ta­tion of itself. Start with this mind­set and it’s not a a big leap to Silent Spring, global warm­ing or The Bomb.

To promo Lawn Reform, Susan is host­ing an “I used to have a lawn but now I have…” con­test, where you’re encour­aged to sub­mit pho­tos and sto­ries related to trans­form­ing lawn into some­thing else. The win­ners, drawn at ran­dom, will receive a copy of John Greenlee’s new book, The Amer­i­can Meadow Gar­den: Cre­at­ing a Nat­ural Alter­na­tive to the Tra­di­tional Lawn.

Dead Grass

I’ll share a cou­ple of life-after-lawn pho­tos of my own. The newest expanse, which might be described as “I used to have a lawn but now I have dead grass,” is a fairly unat­trac­tive alter­na­tive to lawn, a patch of unwa­tered grass that’s in part a response to our cur­rent water rationing. This is prob­a­bly noth­ing that’s going to make any­one do some­thing else with their lawn, but it’s ugly enough that we’ll have to do some­thing about it.

Front yard overview

The sec­ond shot is an overview of my front yard, taken dur­ing the unflat­ter­ing light of mid­day in the heat of Sep­tem­ber, some­thing like 18 years after the we took out the front lawn. At the time we, along with much of South­ern Cal­i­for­nia, were into a lot of South African species, so there are a cou­ple dif­fer­ent forms of a stately tree aloe, Aloe bar­berae (a.k.a. A. bain­seii) to the right, along with a big mound of Aloe arborescens. To the left is a big clump of the maligned red foun­tain grass from far­ther up in the African con­ti­nent; it’s a plant that peo­ple tell you not to plant because of its inva­sive ten­den­cies, although this ver­sion hasn’t self-sown in two decades. (Other ver­sions of foun­tain grass, how­ever, can take over an ecosys­tem in no time.)

We’ve tried var­i­ous Cal­i­for­nia natives over the years in this space. The most suc­cess­ful has been the row of coy­ote bush brush cas­cad­ing over the front wall, Bac­cha­ris pilu­laris ‘Pigeon Point.’ It’s a plant that’s been said to have a ten year use­ful life. For us it’s dou­bled that num­ber of years, though it’ll prob­a­bly get renewed this plant­ing sea­son. Another cor­ner of the ex-lawn, not shown here, fea­tures some buck­wheats and plants from the Chan­nel Islands. They’re fill­ing in nicely as they pro­vide more of a Cal­i­for­nia fla­vor to the yard and soften a yard that used to be a lot more about succulents.

Front yard succulents

Before we under­took this big lawn replace­ment we asked a ques­tion about what we really used the front lawn for. Mostly we walked through it on the way to the front door. Why not put big mound­ing accent plants where we’d never walk? And in the place of where we used to have one species of grass that required lots of water and pam­per­ing we now have sev­eral dozen species of plants, almost all of which will make it through the sum­mer with next to no addi­tional water­ing. Greater diver­sity, check; less water use, check. The project also suc­ceeds in all the other ways Lawn Reform sug­gests a lawn replace­ment would succeed.

But that’s just one suc­cess story. There are prob­a­bly as many dif­fer­ent ways to replace a lawn as there are gar­den­ers. What would you do?

September 22 2009 | Categories: gardeninglandscape design | Tags: | 11 Comments »

my swamp creatures

sarracenia-leucophylla-tarnok

sarracenia-rubra

Here are some of the pitcher plants grow­ing in my guilty plea­sure bog gar­den, a small con­crete con­tainer in which I have more than a half dozen of these sar­race­nias and as many sun­dews. The guilty plea­sure part of this comes in when you con­sider that most of Cal­i­for­nia is now in its third year of drought, and when you real­ize that none of the plants in the bog gar­den likes to dry out. And prefer­ably they’d like to have their toes, though not all their roots, in stand­ing water.

sarracenia-alata

sarracenia-dixie-lace

sarracenia-minor

The genus Sar­race­nia is native mostly to wet zones in the East­ern and South­ern United States (with one species into Canada). The ones I’ve tried are prov­ing to be pretty easy to grow as long as they get sun­light and good-quality water. (I’ve prob­a­bly men­tioned before how mine get reverse osmo­sis water from the local water cafe instead of the hyper­chlo­ri­nated bong water that comes out of most South­ern Cal­i­for­nia spig­ots. So far, pro­vid­ing good water has been the most dif­fi­cult part of grow­ing these plants.)

These plants, left to right, top to bottom:

  1. Sar­race­nia rubra
  2. S. leu­co­phylla ‘Tarnok’
  3. S. x Dixie Lace
  4. S. alata
  5. S. minor


There’s also a closely related swamp thing that’s native to North­ern Cal­i­for­nia and Ore­gon. That plant, Dar­ling­to­nia cal­i­for­nica, how­ever, is as dif­fi­cult to grow in most loca­tions as it is stun­ning. If your can’t pro­vide sum­mer night tem­per­a­tures below 55 degrees, don’t bother with it. You’ll kill it. I killed mine. Not all native plants makes sense to grow if they’re not native to your envi­ron­ment! (If you really must do what I did and not as I say, you could try con­struct­ing a spe­cial dar­ling­to­nia box like they do in Japan to lower tem­per­a­tures around the plant.)

bog-garden-overview

So what’s the water use? Dur­ing the hottest months the lit­tle bog sur­vives on three to four 5-gallon serv­ings a month of water. That totals around 15–20 gal­lons for a space that’s about six or seven square feet, or about 2.1 to 3.3 gal­lons per square foot. I was a lit­tle shocked when I com­pared this num­ber to what one source says it takes to main­tain a typ­i­cal lawn over the sum­mer here in the coastal zone: 2.6–3.6 gal­lons per square foot.

Like, I can have a tiny lit­tle swamp gar­den for about the same amount of water it takes to sup­port an equiv­a­lent spot of aver­age lawn? And when you con­sider that most lawns are larger than six or seven square feet, I sud­denly feel a lit­tle less guilty about my lit­tle guilty plea­sure. And it made me look at lawns dif­fer­ently, that they’re just green swamps full of grass. I think I’d rather have my lit­tle bog garden.

(Full dis­clo­sure: We still do have a small patch of grass in the back­yard which gets greened up for the big Fourth-of-July party and then neglected most of the rest of the year. It helps to have heavy after­noon shade like we do to min­i­mize how much water a lawn requires. But when the guy who keeps it mowed and edged won’t do it any more (you know who you are), the lawn is history…)

July 02 2009 | Categories: gardeningmy garden | Tags: | 11 Comments »

western dichondra

My par­ents knew a good deal when they saw one. The house they pur­chased in the South­ern Cal­i­for­nia ‘burbs had the required num­ber of bed­rooms, fruit trees in the back, a lawn for the kids to play on, and was located half-way between their jobs. The front yards in the neigh­bor­hood were well main­tained but not splashy.

Some of the houses on the other side of the nearby main boule­vard, how­ever, had immac­u­late high-maintenance gardens–and prob­a­bly had gar­den­ers to go with them. One of the ground­cover choices that some of those houses sported was a dark green dichon­dra lawn, smooth and uni­form as the felt on a pool table. These were lawns that didn’t tol­er­ate much foot traf­fic, required lots of weed­ing, heavy sum­mer water and were meant mainly for show. Com­pared to our lumpy, spiky lawn, these dichon­dra tableaux seemed like the stuff that dreams are made of. (We never would have con­sid­ered that dichon­dra is con­sid­ered a weed in many parts of the country.)

western-dichondra-on-bricks

Jump ahead lots and lots of years to my cur­rent house. Every now and then in one of the raised beds I’d see a plant vol­un­teer under­neath some shrubs or around some bulbs. It sure looked like dichon­dra, but for a long time I thought I wasn’t IDing the plant correctly.

As it turns out the plant really is a dichon­dra, and it’s actu­ally one of the uncom­mon native plants found in coastal sage scrub, chap­ar­ral and oak wood­land habi­tats. The local species, Dichon­dra occi­den­talis, is dis­tinct from the clas­sic lawn plant–one of the sub­tle dis­tin­guish­ing char­ac­ter­is­tics being the sil­ver or brown hairs on the stems. But it’s still a dichon­dra, and I thought its was pretty cool that one of the plants that I’d fetishized grow­ing up some­how man­aged to find me as an adult.

western-dichondra-and-narcissus-shoots

The dichon­dra has self-sowed itself into a cou­ple spots around the house. It now forms a wel­come ground­cover in this raised planter, where a few months ago the nar­cis­sus were break­ing through the soil…

bletilla-striata-alba-with-western-dichondra

…and this is today, with white Chi­nese ground orchids, Bletilla stri­ata alba, bloom­ing away in their bed of soft dichondra.

If you don’t want to wait for the plant to show up on its own, sev­eral Cal­i­for­nia native plant sup­pli­ers offer Dichon­dra occi­den­talis, though it’s def­i­nitely one of the less pop­u­lar items. The plant seems best for me in part-shade. It can take the sum­mer off if you don’t water it, but bi-weekly sprin­klings have kept it around year-round for me, though in sum­mer it’s a lit­tle sparse. But as much as I hate to admit it, I also have a hard time look­ing glam­orous all the time, so I’m will­ing to give this plant a break…

April 10 2009 | Categories: gardeningmy gardenplant profiles | Tags: | 4 Comments »

more about lawns

Thanks to Linda who saved for me a New Yorker arti­cle by Eliz­a­beth Kol­bert, “Turf War.” It’s from the…um…July 21 issue. (Okay, it some­times take me a lit­tle time to finally get around to things…)

It’s a wor­thy read that takes a his­tor­i­cal look at some of the writ­ings dis­cussing the topic of the Amer­i­can lawn, begin­ning with Andrew Jack­son Downing’s 1841 Trea­tise on the The­ory and Prac­tice of Land­scape Gar­den­ing. Being a review of the lawn lit­er­a­ture, it’s ripe with pithy quotes by the author and many oth­ers that show changes in Amer­i­can thought towards this car­pet of mown grass. Read the arti­cle for all the quotes in con­text, but here’s a hand­ful that I espe­cially liked:

Among the dozen or so main grasses that make up the Amer­i­can lawn, almost none are native to Amer­ica. Ken­tucky blue­grass comes from Europe and north­ern Asia, Bermuda grass from Africa, and Zoysia grass from East Asia.

Mow­ing tur­f­grass quite lit­er­ally cuts off the option of sex­ual reproduction…In his anti-lawn essay “Why mow?,” Michael Pol­lan puts it this way: “Lawns are nature purged of sex and death. No won­der Amer­i­cans like them so much.”

A fine car­pet of green grass stamps the inhab­i­tants as good neigh­bors, as desir­able cit­i­zens,” Abra­ham Levitt wrote. (By covenant, the orig­i­nal Levit­town­ers agreed to mow their lawns once a week between April 15th and Novem­ber 15th.)

[In a dis­cus­sion on the us pes­ti­cides and her­bi­cides on lawns:] In “Amer­i­can Green” (2006), Ted Stein­berg, a pro­fes­sor of his­tory at Case West­ern Reserve Uni­ver­sity, com­pares the lawn to “a nation­wide chem­i­cal exper­i­ment with home­own­ers as the guinea pigs.”

Recently, a NASA-funded study, which used satel­lite data col­lected by the Depart­ment of Defense, deter­mined that, includ­ing golf courses, lawns in the United States cover nearly fifty thou­sand square miles–an area roughly the size of New York State. The same study con­cluded that most of this New York State-size lawn was grow­ing in places where tur­f­grass should new have been planted. In order to keep all the lawns in the coun­try well irri­gated, the author of the study cal­cu­lated, it would take an aston­ish­ing two hun­dred gal­lons of water per per­son, per day.

For a developer…putting in tur­f­grass is by far the eas­i­est way to land­scape; what is some­times called “contractor’s mix” grass seed is specif­i­cally for­mu­lated to pro­vide a fast-growing–though not nec­es­sar­ily long-lasting–green. (Lowe’s, which sells fif­teen pounds of contractor’s-mix seed for $23.52, adver­tises it as an “econ­omy mix­ture that pro­vides quick grass cover.”) The lawn may be waste­ful and destruc­tive, it may even be dan­ger­ous, but it is, in its way, convenient.

October 21 2008 | Categories: gardeninglandscape designquotes | Tags: | 2 Comments »

a vacant house

There’s a house across that street that is look­ing like it’s turn­ing into a vic­tim of the cur­rent mort­gage fiasco. The owner bought at the top of the home val­u­a­tions and prob­a­bly expected prices to keep growing.

House for sale

House for sale

When no one had seen the main owner for weeks we were start­ing to think that things weren’t quite right over there. A month ago a mort­gage broker’s sign appeared in front of the house, then some­one with the city came by to shut off the water. See­ing all this hap­pen­ing con­firmed our worst fears.

Since life here in the desert can’t exist with­out sup­ple­men­tal water, the last time a house sat vacant on our street one of the neigh­bors kept it watered while another mowed the lawn. With that sit­u­a­tion fresh in John’s mem­ory, he cor­nered the neigh­bor across the street and struck a deal. Between the two of them they’d tend the house until a new owner could move in, doing what they can to keep up the neighborhood.

Parking strip, mowed

Park­ing strip, mowed

At some point the water got restored to the house, and so the yard was get­ting water. But no one was tak­ing care of the mowing.

Enter John and the neigh­bor. Now, when­ever one of them has a mower out, the park­ing strip along the side­walk gets a quick haircut.

Gone to seed

Gone to seed

Unfor­tu­nately, the yard inside the gates is going feral, but at least we can’t see it so eas­ily. This was difficult-to-maintain land­scap­ing put in by non-gardeners and only tended by hired help. Once the gar­den­ers left, entropy started to claim the inner yard. (John’s and the neighbor’s com­mit­ment to keep­ing up the neigh­bor­hood for free go only so far. And by now you may gather my gen­eral shrill atti­tude towards main­tain­ing expan­sive lawns in the desert…)


The last word is that the house has been sold. Who bought it, when they’ll move it, who they are–all that’s still the grand mys­tery that these trans­ac­tions so often are. These deals can fall through any time.

After you live in a neigh­bor­hood for a while you get to expe­ri­ence good neigh­bors and neigh­bors from the other side of hell. The last ones in this house were some of the good ones–personable, friendly, inter­est­ing and tol­er­ant, and we’re sad to see them go. As we head in for another round in this game of new neigh­bor roulette, we’re keep­ing our fin­gers crossed for rea­son­able ones again.

July 26 2008 | Categories: gardeninglandscape design | Tags: | 1 Comment »

chemistry, physics, biology

Here’s a cool art­work by Heather Ack­royd and Dan Har­vey that was fea­tured at the recent Wim­ble­don tennis-thing. It’s made of three pan­els of grass.

Wimble grass art

The sec­tions were grown in a dark­ened space under arti­fi­cial lights that pro­jected through pho­to­graphic neg­a­tives. The brighter the expo­sure, the richer the green color.

It’s the reverse prin­ci­ple at work as leav­ing a hose or board on your lawn for a week: When you pick up the hose or board you can see how the grass grew pale where it was deprived of sunlight.

So what would you call this art process? It’s basi­cally using light to effect a trans­for­ma­tion of some kind of mate­r­ial, and that’s pretty much the def­i­n­i­tion of photography.

Photography’s first rev­o­lu­tion was the abil­ity to use chem­i­cal processes to fix an image made by light–think of the pho­tog­ra­pher dis­ap­pear­ing into a dark­room with some unpromis­ing plates or film and com­ing back with a mag­i­cal image. Then the physics of turn­ing light sen­sors into elec­tri­cal impulses made chemistry-free imag­ing pos­si­ble, lead­ing to things like tele­vi­sion cam­eras and your cell­phone camera.

And now comes this process where the record­ing device is bio­log­i­cal. Of course, rely­ing on some­thing liv­ing and grow­ing, the result is any­thing but per­ma­nent, but that’s also one of the nice things about the pieces. Noth­ing lasts forever.

The grass art­work reminds me of Den­nis Oppenheim’s bril­liant 1970 pho­to­graphic per­for­mance, Read­ing Posi­tion for Sec­ond Degree Burn, where he leaves a book on his chest as the exposed parts of him sun­burn on the beach. The first pic­ture shows him at the begin­ning, with the book. In the sec­ond, hours later with the book removed, a sun­burn describes the area where the book pro­tected him.

Dennis Oppenheim Reading Position for Second Degree BurnDen­nis Oppen­heim. Read­ing Posi­tion for Sec­ond Degree Sun­burn. Chro­mogenic prints with applied text.

It’s just as much a “bio­log­i­cal pho­to­graph” as the Wim­ble­don piece. While the grass piece stuns most in its exe­cu­tion, the Oppen­heim piece, com­ing out of con­cep­tual art, buzzes with ideas and humor.

Next time you come back from the beach with untanned patches where your swim­suit shaded your body, why not con­sider your­self a walk­ing pho­to­graph?


[ Thanks to Landscape+Urbanism, where I first saw the Wim­ble­don grass pieces, and to Cre­ative Review, where I’ve linked. ]

July 18 2008 | Categories: artgardeningphotography | Tags: | 4 Comments »

the dark side of lawns

I was thumb­ing through The Amer­i­can Lawn, edited by Georges Teyssot, a col­lec­tion of thoughts on the phe­nom­e­non of Amer­i­can lawns by eight con­trib­u­tors. It’s a wide rang­ing col­lec­tion of essays look­ing at the place of lawns in Amer­i­can cul­ture since colo­nial days. One of the pieces, “The Elec­tric Lawn” by Mark Wigley, has a cou­ple of quotes that inter­ested me in my cur­rent dis­en­chant­ment with all things turf-related.

On lawns and power relationships:

While ren­der­ings for clients may show the lawn, and man­u­als of draw­ing tech­nique may describe the ways in which it can be rep­re­sented, the draw­ings with which archi­tects com­mu­ni­cate to them­selves and other archi­tects leave the lawn out. It is assumed that wher­ever there is noth­ing spec­i­fied in the draw­ing there is grass. The lawn is treated like the paper on which the projects are drawn, a tab­ula rasa with­out any inher­ent inter­est, a back­ground that merely clears the way for the main event. Yet the lawn is always pre­cisely con­trolled, whether by the archi­tect or land­scape designer. Lawns are all about con­trol. The green frame is far from neu­tral or inno­cent. What is left out of the pic­ture often rules the picture.

And a look at 50s green-lawned utopia gone bad:

The deadly lawn­mower is the star of the dark side of sub­ur­ban life. Take Stephen King, the high priest of sub­ur­ban gothic. In his 1985 film Max­i­mum Over­drive, a pass­ing alien space­ship causes all the machines on the planet to turn against their operators–insulting, taunt­ing, tor­tur­ing, and then killing. A young boy rides his bicy­cle down the mid­dle of a generic sub­ur­ban street. Lawns pass by on either side. The only sign of trou­ble is that the auto­matic sprin­klers uncan­nily respond to his presence…A blood-stained lawn­mower lurks behind a tree, idling, wait­ing. When the boy finally stops, it roars to life and chases him down the street…

Well, I didn’t see that movie, and Leonard Maltin rates it a bomb: “Stu­pid and bor­ing.” Maybe a cou­ple of inter­est­ing takes on sub­ur­bia, but noth­ing for the Net­flix queue…

April 28 2008 | Categories: gardeninglandscape designquotes | Tags: | No Comments »