Lawns are so last century. They’re unsustainable (especially in Kiwi summers), they waste vast quantities of water (tch tch), they require mowing (noise pollution), feeding (nitrogen run off) and weeding (naughty, nasty herbicides). I haven’t had a lawn for at least a decade (in fact, now that I think of it I haven’t had one since 1997). In my last three gardens, the lawn was always the first thing to go. Not just because I’ve never owned a lawnmower, but because I’ve always looked at lawns as simply hogging space where plants could go instead.
But oh boy, do I have a lawn now! And, even if I do say so myself, it’s quite magnificent. I’m like a proud parent… every day I’m out there patting its head and quietly congratulating myself that I have attained that vision of verdant loveliness that blokes everywhere lust after: the perfect lawn. The dog loves it. The cats love it. And I love it. (I realise it defies logic to love a lawn, but I do.)
Two days before Christmas, we rolled out 380 square metres of instant ‘California Green’ from Readylawn. It’s a deep green, wide bladed fescue grass that’s rhizotomous (meaning it creeps like kikuyu). It looked a bit ropey for the first few days, but two tanks of water later… it’s looking superb. And we’ve still got six weeks to go until the wedding.
Mind you, it’s just as well the lawn is in top nick, because as you can probably tell from the photo, the wildflower borders around the lawn are still knee high to a grasshopper. I predict a fair bit of panic buying of potted colour lies ahead.