A Battle Over Wild Things

A few weeks ago, after our conversation, Next Door Neighbor B. took it upon herself to ask the landscapers to remove - physically and with the help of what I assume are noxious chemicals - the chocolate vine that climbed our trellis and balcony out back. I guess she got it into her head that all the snakes in the New River Valley were climbing it and using our porches as a vacation spot. Or something. I'll admit that it was a wee bit out of control, but it also produces the most delicious-smelling spring blooms I've ever known. And the fact that she did this without asking, informing, or notifying anyone, irks me. Greatly.

Hmm, guess which house is ours?

It turns out that snakes are not the only sign of nature that B. has issues with. She came over to speak with J. earlier, about "doing something" about our front yard, which, in her estimation, is far too wild. She kept repeating how it really has to be to be "cleaned up" right away, so that it looks "neat and tidy," and went so far as to claim that its current state violates the HOA rules. Landlord P. clearly disliked the orderly, condo-cookie-cutter lawn of this complex, clearly has a love of a diversity of plants and trees. And while I'll also admit that some of the trees, in particular, could use some trimming back, I find B's complaints equally irksome and quite puzzling. If not for this yard, we would not have the hummingbirds and house finches and cardinals, the squirrels and the new-resident chipmunk, the caterpillars and praying mantises, would not be able to eagerly await the blooming of another, mystery flower. Is there something inherent dangerous here, in this version of nature - besides the bees and wasps and annoying June bugs - that I'm missing? I'm having trouble understanding why instead we must accept one that is tamed and controlled and trimmed and sprayed, sometimes to death.

Our offensive yard, up close

While we are merely renters, this is one battle I will gladly fight.

Unquiet Spirit of a Flower

With our big across-town move less than a week away now, I'm thinking of things that I will not miss about this house: the stinkbugs, the box elder bugs, the colonies of wasps, the ants, the mice, the family of starlings living in the chimney - those are all within the house or just outside it. But one thing I will also not miss is the yard, also known not-so-affectionately as The Invasive Species Jungle. To use the term yard for this place is a misnomer, as it's more like a few rebel blades of grass battling it out with all manner of weeds and saplings and other scaries. Apart from its sheer size and the subsequent mowing challenges, I just don't really understand the American fascination with The Lawn.  The compulsion to have a pristine, manicured, tidy carpet of green. One that requires constant attention to keep it pristine. One that can't fully be enjoyed because of all the chemicals required to maintain that pristine-ness. I'm sure the neighbors see the 'for rent' sign out front and hope that some new tenants will remove the blight on the neighborhood landscape that is this yard. This has to be the Year of the Dandelion too, some strange convergence of the absolute right conditions for it to proliferate more than I ever thought possible.

Here I feel much kinship with Robert Wright in his recent blog post from the New York Times. And I am remembering back to one particular composition course at Iowa State, when we read Michael Pollan's wonderful essay, "Why Mow?" (also from the NYT). For some reason, this one piece engaged students more than any other that I have ever taught. For their assignment that week, they were asked to write an argument against Pollan, one in favor of the lawn. The responses were creative and generally pretty amazing. One student wrote his entire piece from the perspective of the lawn itself. Another employed Jonathan Swift-like satire successfully. After all these years, I still have copies of some of their pieces. But I still wonder what exactly it is about the idea of a lawn that inspired them so, what touched such a nerve by Pollan's suggestion that maybe we don't need lawns.

Me, I'm looking forward to having the tiniest slip of grass, one that will take minutes instead of hours to take care of. And I won't miss you one bit, you jungle masquerading as a yard. Though The Girls will miss it, at least all the dandelions. Because to them, this jungle is a sea of beautiful *flowers* just waiting to be picked.