Green
The house we rent dates from Chico’s golden era of residential development. In other words, it has a good-sized lot, with both a front and back yard.
Furthermore, it has trees that have had 50 years to grow so that they can provide bounteous shade. This makes it even more of a classic Chico residence.
Some of the trees are — quite frankly — weeds. Our privets are in that category. If I owned the house, I would have them removed. Instead, in the time we’ve lived there, they’ve tripled in height and covered the front yard in a continuous canopy of leaves.
The shade has driven out the lawn, except for a narrow strip next to the street. For the last three years, I’ve engaged in a Sisyphusian struggle to restore it.
Early on, I conceded the loss of about half of the original lawn space. I’ve put in a couple of flower beds and covered some of the bare dirt with redwood bark.
The back yard was already too shady for a lawn when we moved in nine years ago. Right off the bat, I decided to go with the flow and think of it as a private patch of forest. It’s a deliberately cultivated wilderness, in the spirit of a Japanese garden. The view of it from our living room through a sliding glass door and picture window is
of a cool retreat.
But my bourgeois heart continues to demand a lawn, even if it’s just a strip along the periphery of the property that catches the mid-day rays of the sun. It doesn’t have to be perfect. My only requirements are that it be green and be free of gaping bare patches. It would be fine if the green were crabgrass, but even that often-reviled intruder doesn’t seem to care for the shade.
You’d think I’d embrace a yard without a lawn. They are such water hogs, and they have to be mowed every couple of weeks. Plants would add much more diversity to my landscape. But I can’t let go of the idea of having at least a token piece of monotonous, matted greenery in my yard.