That's it. I'm done. I'm giving up on the lawn.
My lawn, a once-neat square created by lifting nine paving stones (so about 1.5 m sq) in the front garden, was originally turfed, with spring bulbs naturalised into the drive-side edge, Glory-of-the-snow and Snowdrops. I would trim it periodically with shears. My neighbour would offer his lawnmover, which I took as a joke. It was so tiny. The arrival of daisies was momentous and celebrated. The arrival of dandelions was amusing and tolerated.
Then it became a space where the local tom-cats left each other messages. Long, pointed, fetid messages. Occasionally we'd startle Grey Trouble or Tom Daley (a smart young black tom with a white cravat) mid yowl or poo. "It's the circle of poo," we'd say, resigned cat-owners, and tidy up after the toms our own cat thoughtfully kept out of the back garden, mostly.
This regular attention lead to irregular growth. Lush patches, bare patches. In came the thuggy invaders, Alkanet, Sorrel, Pineapple Mint and Marguerite. Grass clumped up or died. There was no more lawn, just another bed and a scruffy one, at that. Time to ring the changes.
It's the end of the season sale at the Garden Centre off the bypass. The plants are tired, and Christmas trees have marched through the bedding section. Tim's idea of a tiny wildflower meadow is adorable but impractical. We need something low, tough and shrubby, that will tolerate hard conditions and occasionally being run over by wheelie bins or having a cargo bike planted on it. I head for the municipal shrubbery section.
Escallonia "Golden Carpets" promises low growth and pops of hot pink flowers in season. Fluffy purple Hebes on three for two will fill things out until it's established. Once it's down I'll thread in pop-up plants to head up through it. Alliums maybe, or some slender tulips with mutilpe heads.
And there will be no more lawn in my garden.
My lawn, a once-neat square created by lifting nine paving stones (so about 1.5 m sq) in the front garden, was originally turfed, with spring bulbs naturalised into the drive-side edge, Glory-of-the-snow and Snowdrops. I would trim it periodically with shears. My neighbour would offer his lawnmover, which I took as a joke. It was so tiny. The arrival of daisies was momentous and celebrated. The arrival of dandelions was amusing and tolerated.
Then it became a space where the local tom-cats left each other messages. Long, pointed, fetid messages. Occasionally we'd startle Grey Trouble or Tom Daley (a smart young black tom with a white cravat) mid yowl or poo. "It's the circle of poo," we'd say, resigned cat-owners, and tidy up after the toms our own cat thoughtfully kept out of the back garden, mostly.
This regular attention lead to irregular growth. Lush patches, bare patches. In came the thuggy invaders, Alkanet, Sorrel, Pineapple Mint and Marguerite. Grass clumped up or died. There was no more lawn, just another bed and a scruffy one, at that. Time to ring the changes.
It's the end of the season sale at the Garden Centre off the bypass. The plants are tired, and Christmas trees have marched through the bedding section. Tim's idea of a tiny wildflower meadow is adorable but impractical. We need something low, tough and shrubby, that will tolerate hard conditions and occasionally being run over by wheelie bins or having a cargo bike planted on it. I head for the municipal shrubbery section.
Escallonia "Golden Carpets" promises low growth and pops of hot pink flowers in season. Fluffy purple Hebes on three for two will fill things out until it's established. Once it's down I'll thread in pop-up plants to head up through it. Alliums maybe, or some slender tulips with mutilpe heads.
And there will be no more lawn in my garden.
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