I can’t remember a time, ever, when I understood lawns. “We’d have more animals around our house if it was more like the rest of the woods and fields around here,” I once observed to my father. “We don’t want more animals around here,” came the reply. My antipathy toward lawns grew when for a brief time as an adult I owned a home where it was the neighborhood expectation that I keep the yard regularly mowed. And thus, for a while, I joined the ranks of suburban farmers, periodically harvesting a crop of grass. But at least I had the sense to use a mulching mower, thereby returning the clippings to the soil rather than gathering them and thus necessitating an endless need for ever more fertilizer.

The only place at The Lake appointed with a lawn was the school. I suppose it made some sense to keep those grounds trimmed as the yard was a popular play area for children. Fortunately, neither weedkillers nor fertilizer was part of the scene (though after each mowing the maintenance crew insisted, pointlessly, on raking up the clippings – and so it can be assumed that year upon year the soil there loses some nutrition). But thanks to the absence of poisons, all kinds of wildflowers volunteered themselves among the blades of grass: wild strawberries, willowherb, avens, yarrow, and around the edges even lupine and an occasional chocolate lily found a place to put down roots. But best of all I think was the spectacular carpet of dandelions the yard acquired each spring. And fortunately, we were able to prevail upon the lawn crew to delay mowing until well after this event.

All winter long, redpolls, siskins and Pine Grosbeaks – took advantage of feeders, alder cone seeds and spruce cone seeds. And then, when the dandelions went to seed, these finches would descend on the lawn and gorge themselves on nutritious, oily dandelion seeds, filling the yard with their happy chatter.