Did you know that the whole concept of the suburban lawn arises from Longue Agoe and Far Awaye in Merrie Olde England, when an upwardly mobile inhabitant of some stolidly immobile castle wished to impress the other gentry with his wealth? “Get ME! I have PASTURE and I don’t even have any flocks to feed! No WONDER I be merrie!”
So it has trickled down to the modern masses -- (that’s US, folks!) -- out there giving our “leisure” time to chasing a mower back and forth. (Why, my home town in New Jersey, is NAMED for the treasure: Fair Lawn!)
If you’re tired of mowing, fertilizing, struggling with bad-looking grass to feed nonexistent sheep, perhaps you should consider Mulching.
My mulchy mission started when we moved into our house some years ago. I became the proud owner (as opposed to the lowly humble renter) of a corner lot, edged by what seemed like a 90-degree slope into drainage ditches on two sides, - very common here in Venice. (Picture a horizontal version of the Grand Canyon.) You really can't tell by the picture.
The house was built up high, a good thing in the drenching rains, but a bad thing if you had anything against landing on your ear while wrestling with rapidly rotating blades meant to shear down whatever gets in their path. My two pre-teen daughters eagerly volunteered for the job. That did it. I had to hire a mowin’ guy and planned the eventual annihilation of the grass altogether.
Thus began my quest for free mulch. It didn’t take me long. The new house came with four Live Oak trees in the back yard which needed trimming. As was my pattern, I ended up blabbing into the dusk with David Moore, the Florida Tree Expert, and he said he’d bring me all the mulch I wanted. And he’d not bring me anything that might go to seed and become more of a nuisance than the grass. These are to mulch lessons to really consider when acquiring new mulch: Seeds of some really nasty stuff can come along for the ride and rise up and bite you places later. - AND free mulch can be scooped up through professional tree trimmers who might have to pay a fee to dump their stuff anyway - (doesn't hurt to ask…) and also communities also make free mulch available if you are willing to dig it. Dig? Use your noodle, your Google, yellow pages, whatever. They're called resources for a reason!
Anyway that first truckload delivered a load of ground-up Florida late in the day. I swear, during the night it began steaming, the fumes doing a cartoon hootchy-koo into my open bedroom window and into my dreams. That next morning, I was out there in my nighty and combat boots before I knew it. First time I had gotten to fondle a pitchfork since leaving my garden back in New Jersey too long ago. Garden Porn? Not so much - maybe with a different leading lady.
Then the Endless Forking - (again - NOT dirty) - began. First thing each morning before work I loaded and dragged at least one barrow-full. I'd dump on a fairly thick mound of mulch and spread it. I found the St. Augustine grass came right up through the recommended 3 or 4-inches of mulch. I needed to dump the woody mulch maybe a foot deep. And it took unbearably long to rot. It needed time to perform its murderous magic. I could usually restrain myself for a month or so before lifting and peeking. If I could get ahead of my impatience - (Note: First New Jersey reference - we/ I tend to be impatient, itchy, scratchy) - and leave the mulch in place for months, when raked back, Voila: Black gold, Texas tea. NO, that’s the Beverly Hillbillies. But there would be lovely no-grassed soil there (I hear). So I peeked and re-tucked and had to wait.
But the mulch kept the grass from seeing the light of day. And what grass did wend it’s way up through the mulch was easier to pull up, still freaked out by its mulchy predicament. If the grass was still alive, it was squishy-topped and white-rooted and more easily dug. Weeding became the random bend and tug as opposed to minutes/hours of knee-destroying work.
As I got patches mulched and softened, I’d realize where beds might go. My ideas of what I would plant formed. It seems that as soon as an area was mulched, I knew what I wanted to plant there. (I started with place-holders: Annuals mostly - they'd live one season and then be gone. By the time the annuals had come and gone, I'd have an idea of something more permanent). I advise not planting anything at first that you'll have trouble moving as you learn and if/when you change your mind later on.
Time passed, I learned. Things lived (or were composted.) There are beds now where once there was crappy lawn.
I could not imagine in those early days what I'd do with myself should I ever get to stop hauling the mulch (and myself) out there every morning. As it turned out, I never DID stop the mulching. Now it's with containers-full of my fabulous shredded newspaper mulch. But more on that at another time.
So, now of a Sunday, I loll on my porch swing, hidden by towering flowers. I listen to the whirring roar as my neighbors spend another lovely Florida weekend out there in the blazing sun, risking sunburn, dehydration, and amputation for the sake of impressing some long-dead, merry-no-more gentry and We are not amused.
