[Context: We were walking through the woods and fields, doing Nature Observation at Spirit Tree Farms with some folks from out-of-town. As I riffed this haiku, I made these notes:
As we set about finding peace in Nature, it’s always a good time (both to do it, and to be had).
What’s amazing is that, as you share it, others feel it, and thank you for the experience.]
The following is based on a true story that happened in a horseshoe cul-du-sac neighborhood in unincorporated King County (Metro Seattle) during a rare summer drought in the mid-1990s.
A family once lived in a nice neighborhood. For as far as you looked, all the front yards looked good.
T’was near the Pacific that these fine yards existed. Lush and green, by Nature itself misted.
All green and manicured, watered and mowed with care. Herbicided. Pesticided. No bugs or weeds there!
Each week like clockwork, at a quarter past eight, sprinklers would go on keeping the lawns green and great.
(Even though in Seattle it still rained a lot, these folks still watered; you know: In case it got hot!)
But this one family had a south slope to their yard. It made the sun bake it; lawn turned brown and hard.
No matter how often the Dad thatched and weeded, the lawn wouldn’t grow. So what more was needed?
He went out and bought the best fertilizer. While his wife was asleep; (That’s sure to surprise her!)
But no matter how many chemicals he put on, the man could never green up his scorched, brown lawn.
So one day he thought (In a flash of inspiration) “I’ll rip it all up!” (or was it desperation?)
So up the grass came! With each shovel he took, the man left the dirt there: each clod he shook.
He added some more soil from his gardened back yard. Good loam, organic, that had never been hard.
Then the man went to a nursery and bought plants by the dozens! Herbs and natives wildflowers for butterflies and their cousins.
Thyme and camomille, rosemary, dogwood, rue. Coneflowers and lupine; sage, lavender, and moss, too.
And taking some slabs he’d found near the freeway, the man carefully placed stones to make a rock pathway.
Each plant, herb and native, he put in its place. It was so creative! A live masterpiece!
When the man finished, sure, there was dirt. Parts were bare. But nature grows and fills in, so he didn’t much care.
He knew that the rains of late fall, winter, and spring would bring lovely growth; the plants needed nothing.
One day his neighbor met the man on the street. Said the neighbor: “Doing yard work? When will it be complete?”
“It looks so bizare! It’s messy. It’s odd! It’s so out of place! When will you lay sod?”
Said the family man: “Oh, it’s done! These plants need no more care. They’ll grow and they’ll flourish, and fill in what’s bare.”
He smiled at his neighbor; feeling such joy, such pride at the beauty he and Nature were creating outside.
His neighbor scowled. Disgust twisted his face. “What!?!” he stammered. “Just look at your place!”
“Your yard looks like garbage! So messy. So dead. You need to fix this! You’re wrong in your head!”
“Come on!” his neighbor shouted, “This does NOT look good! Your dirt yard’s an embarrassment to our whole neighborhood.”
With that the neighbor turned and stomped back to his lawn’d home. Sad, the man bent and dug his hands deep into his loam.
He looked at his work and murmured under his breath, talking to his plants: “I’ll show them yet!”
All through the fall, winter, and spring, the man watched his yard change: Nature doing its thing.
By early the next summer the plants had grown. Flowers lush, vibrant, colorful: A joy to behold.
And to smell! And to feel! And to taste! And to feed! This family’s yard had all the good food that pollinators need.
They came! Bright butterflies and moths, gentle wasps, bees, bugs too. Colorful songbirds all came to feast on blossom nectar stew.
Then something strange happened in this eternal rain land. The hot sun came out and did not hide again.
No clouds to cover the heat. No rain to make green. No cool ocean breezes. It was a bleak desert scene.
All the land was parched. The sun? Scorching hot. Was there enough water? No, for a change, there was not!
So city and county governments decided (because that’s what they do): “Water rationing must start! Free lawn-watering’s through!”
“You can lightly moisten your yard only once every other week.” So the Council declared and the homeowners all shreaked:
“Our lawns! They’ll all die! They’ll turn brown and bare!” Said the government: “Folks must drink! Bathe! Flush! Your lawns? We don’t care!”
Ah, but family man’s yard was native: Herbs and flowers used to the heat! They’d evolved that way. With drought they’d compete.
And not just compete, but thrive! Throughout a dry hundred days they blossomed and flourished and delighted people’s gaze.
Old folks would drive by to look. School classes would visit, asking the man about the plants: Seeing, smelling, tasting: “What is it?”
Not just seeing row on row of manicured lawns of green, instead, a riot of color! “Call Sunset Magazine!”
The man would patiently answer each earnest joyful question about his native plant front yard, and he’d offer suggestions.
Because folks were willing to listen and learn how to replace sterile lawns so easily burned.
The rains finally came, (for the lawns, much too late.) They’d all died and turned brown. They’d all met their fate.
Replacing dead grass is not cheap, easy, or quick. It costs thousands of dollars (and hope that sod sticks!)
One day by the mailbox the family man met his neighbor. Pointing at his dead lawn, the man said: “Please, do us a favor!”
“Fix your front yard. It looks trashy! It’s all brown. Dead. Not good! It’s an embarrassment to the whole neighborhood!”
The neighbor’s head dropped like the blades of his dead lawn. He remembered his cruel words. He knew he was wrong.
The man didn’t gloat (much). He didn’t chide or scold. He let Mother Earth do the teaching; changing young and old.
Letting them see with his own tiny front yard how each helps shape the world. With Nature, it’s not hard.
