I
read a “good news” article about an elderly couple from Great Britain
who has the most magnificent backyard garden. (They’re in their 70s –
yes, all you baby boomers, that's called elderly.)
With
all this COVID-19 time on their hands, they’ve been planting trees left
and right. They've created a jungle, albeit a rather orderly one. Their
relatively small backyard has a remarkable resemblance to Vancouver
Island’s Butchart Gardens.
The elderly couple (they look quite feeble in the pictures) have spent almost every day working on the garden since
the lock-down began. They order all their supplies online, trees
included, and then weed to their hearts content.
This
article was intended to be a good news article during the pandemic, but
I think it rather shames us all. I confess my own envy. Some people
indeed have a knack for greenery, and I hate them for it.
Having
grown up on a farm, I have no idea how to beautify a small urban area. I
only know efficiency; how to cover the most acres of grass (and
whatever else is growing there) in the shortest period of time. On a
riding mower that would decimate a small city plot, I spent two and half
hours every Saturday just to keep the grass down to a reasonable
length. My parents, who are now quite elderly (don’t tell them I said
that), continue this thankless chore to this day.
A
couple times a year we would get out the whipper snipper to take out
the long grass along the edge of bins and buildings, although come to
think of it, I don’t think we even had that when I was young. I recall
my dad giving me something that resembled a scythe, the same tool the Grim Reaper is known to carry with him; you know, in case the grass gets too high when he’s searching for lost souls.
I remember whacking away at grass up to my waist, occasionally skimming the scalp of an unassuming cat while doing it. It was all fun and games until a cat lost an eye.
So I never really learned the fine art of creating a small urban garden or maintaining an alluring, lush lawn. When my friend from town showed me how luxurious his dad’s lawn was compared to his neighbour’s, I would chuckle to myself. What difference does it make, so long as it’s somewhat green and growing?
As it turns out, a huge
difference. There's not a more competitive field in cities as the race
for an immaculate front lawn. Start showing some brown patches, and
you’ll never hear the end of it from your neighbour. Let your dandelions go, and you’ll be despised for generations.
It’s
a competitive field, and only the toughest survive. You've got to be out
there monitoring it every day, applying herbicides, fertilizer and water.
It’s tiring.
When
we first bought our house, we had no idea how much work it would take.
The lawn looked so good, we thought it would last forever.
How
wrong we were. After a few years of neglect, our lawn took on a more
native look – without the native plants, mind you – and I’ve been trying
to revive it ever since.
Now, to be perfectly honest, our neighbourhood tends to place less value on a perfect lawn than some others. This can be a good and bad thing.
The bad part is I tend to have to make up for my neighbour’s neglect. When I spray for weeds, I end up spraying half the neighbourhood. There’s no sense just doing my lawn with the yellow-headed enemy so near.
The
good part is there’s less pressure on me. Our main competitor is the
city park across the street, and they’ve got so many more issues to deal
with. I can handle that, even with a lawn mower that has blades so dull
I need to cut my lawn two times over.
And
as for our vegetable garden, we've given up on the back yard.
The tree that was planted beside it sucks the life out of everything.
Except the horse radish – the horse radish is lush. I must say, we can grow some mean horse radish. Can’t kill that
stuff if you wanted to.
Now
we’ve resorted to sticking some vegetables in the front flower bed.
Yes, the dill can look a little silly at times amidst the petunias, but
we’ll take the practical benefits of fresh herbs in the summer.
I am, after all, still a farm boy at heart.
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