The greening of the lawn

In these carbon-capped, green-conscious days, you can tell it’s spring when the weekend warriors shake the dust off of their lawn tractors and fire them up.  Their lawns are to be aerated, rolled, fertilized, herbicided, pesticided, and overseeded.  The goal – putting green regularity.

There is another way.

My grandpa loved his lawn, and he loved his tractor, but he also loved birds, rabbits, frogs, and all the other denizens of his yard.  He took a much gentler approach and always seemed to end up with a thriving ecosystem. I use his methods today and they seem to work for me.

Dandelions are the scourge of the modern suburban lawn.  Never mind that they are quite tasty, eaten by farm folks and our old-world ancestors.  And that an entire field of them in full bloom is a golden treat to the eyes.  But the downside is that they spread very easily, the downy seeds lofted by the slightest breeze.  So if your neighbor is trying to eradicate dandelions, you are doing him no favor by allowing yours to flourish.

Herbicides are harsh and have side effects on the environment all the way from your lawn, down the watershed, and into Narragansett Bay.  An alternative method to control dandelions takes a little effort but in return gives you some exercise and time to commune with your yard.  First, find an old butter knife, a bucket, and a glove for your working hand.  Now patrol your yard in a regular circuit, looking for the telltale yellow blossoms.  Kneel down and plunge the butter knife into the soil, vertically alongside the plant’s tap root.  Now gather up the leaves and press the plant against the side of the butter knife, twist and gently pull till the whole thing pops out of the ground.  Toss the uprooted dandelion into the bucket and make sure to dispose of them before the blossoms turn to seed.  Keep at it until the lawn has no more yellow.  This will need to be repeated from time to time as new plants blossom.

Grubs are the most destructive pest your lawn can possibly know.  The grub itself eats the roots of your grass and makes it weak.  Then crows and skunks will dig for the delicious (to them) grubs, leaving your lawn a wasteland.  The most effective protection is to kill the grubs.  Milky spore, a cultured bacterium, is your best defense.  It is a bit expensive, but once applied, will protect your lawn for fifteen to twenty years.

Moss is thought a pest, but why?  It only likes bare areas and does not kill existing grass.  Think of moss as an alternative ground cover.  It is cool and offers a smooth texture to your bare feet.  Just enjoy it.

Mowing style can make a huge difference.  If you cut your grass too short, it will wither, dry out, and die.  Instead, cut it no shorter than 2 ½ to 3 inches.  By keeping your grass tall, it will offer more leaf area to the sun, provide more cooling shade to the ground, and encourage the roots to grow deeper.  Use a mulching mower and allow the clippings to remain; they will help retain moisture and decompose, fertilizing the grass. Your lawn will remain a deep green even in the doldrums of August.

Finally, if there is an area of your lawn that just refuses to cooperate, due perhaps to sandy soil or inadequate drainage, just give up.  Till the soil and plant perennials and ground cover, turning it into a natural area.  The birds, butterflies, and rabbits will thank you.

After a year or two, you will find that your lawn has become a robust ecosystem of hearty grass, violets, moss, and clover, supporting a community of rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks, birds, and butterflies.  It’s as if you were living in a national park.

Or, you could surround yourself with a perfect, sterile, putting green.

On being green

I guess we were green before our time.

Down on the farm, we recycled anything that might be useful. Clothing was handed down from eldest to youngest, knees and elbows patched and sewn with fresh buttons. Some of the other kids teased us at school, but we maintained our equanimity based on our innate sense of exceptional efficiency. Any surplus clothing or shoes was boxed and shipped, once or twice a year, to exotic, far-flung relatives in Sicily. I don’t know if they were teased or admired, but at least they had good American denim for school, patched as it may have been.

Vegetable peelings and table scraps (meat and fats excluded, but including eggshells), went into the compost heap. When properly tended, the compost literally combusted, but unhurriedly, and reduced its contents to a rich, black soil, populated by enormous quantities of ravenous red earthworms whose effluence enriched that soil. Any excess meats and fats, not suitable for compost, were supplemental delicacies for the farm dogs who were responsible for rodent control, protecting the chickens from varmints, and general security and hilarity.

When baking foods in the oven, any other item that might hitch a ride took advantage of the heat. For instance, a pot roast bakes for 3-4 hours, and several loaves of bread could share the last 30 minutes. A fabulous book expounding this principle is “How to Cook a Wolf”, by M.F.K. Fisher, a prolific food writer of the mid-twentieth century who offered instruction in efficiency and good cheer to a war-weary America.

Bottled soda pop was a luxury. Kool-Aid made from our own, delicious well water and the powdered mix was a favorite beverage. And Kool-Aid poured into ice cube trays with popsicle sticks inserted yielded tasty, cooling, frozen treats a few hours later. No air conditioning in summer, but broad porches welcomed picnic-style suppers in the waning heat of the day as the sun surrendered to the night, crickets serenading loudly, and heat lightening flickering on the distant horizon.

Lights were turned off when not needed. The upstairs rooms were not heated in winter, but thick layers of blankets provided more than adequate warmth. In summer, cooling was provided only by ventilation from the open, screened windows.

Finally, sternly instructed to sleep, at least one wayward child eagerly consumed the transportation and mystery of good books, under the blankets, burning up a flashlight’s D-cell batteries.

In spite of that, overall, we were deeply green. We just didn’t know it.