My children have created a captivating bog garden filled with carnivorous plants, including several pitcher plants, Venus flytraps, and sundews. These botanical wonders reside in pots arranged on tables in the sunniest spot of our front yard. While it may seem unconventional to some, our bog garden boldly declares, “We have other priorities!”
Our front yard is a patchwork of neglect. There’s a permanent brown spot where the kids’ Fisher-Price roller coaster used to be, and balls have become wedged in the pine straw, resembling mossy boulders. Lightsabers are strewn along the walkway, mingling with overturned ride-on toys. Grass defiantly grows in between the chaos, and the rosebushes seem to reach out to snag us as we get in and out of the car.
Every now and then, the mail carrier shouts at us to free the mailbox from the encroaching greenery, and my partner occasionally manages to wrestle it back into view. However, those rosemary plants we planted flanking our gate have grown into fragrant behemoths, effectively warding off delivery personnel.
Once, a neighbor inquired if we were running a daycare due to the abundance of toys littering our yard. The answer? Not quite; we simply don’t prioritize lawn care. Dandelions sprout among the toys, and our fence conceals them until they reach impressive heights. Occasionally, bushes obscure our dining room windows so much that a public official once suggested no one lived here, simply based on our overgrown landscape.
I do feel a twinge of guilt. Maintaining a pristine lawn is a quintessentially American pastime. Meanwhile, my neighbors have turned their yards into immaculate putting greens, meticulously mowed with riding tractors that seem overly large for their lawns. They obsess over fertilization and ensure their grass remains untouched by children, perhaps because they remember a different era.
Peeking into their backyards reveals the same level of care as their front yards. In contrast, my backyard resembles a tropical jungle, with only rabbit trails indicating where our dogs prefer to do their business. Years of fallen leaves have accumulated in flower beds now overtaken by weeds. Baby raspberry bushes have sprouted from seeds carried by birds, and we even have a designated dirt patch for the kids to dig in, surrounded by pokeweed and thistle. It’s a veritable minefield of sweetgum balls and bits of dog debris.
We initially bought this house for its pristine yard, but it quickly became clear we couldn’t maintain that standard. We even erected a privacy fence to shield our unruly backyard from prying eyes. That was a challenging period, not least because our rose plants were failing and our azaleas were drooping. And then, our kids came along.
Children have an uncanny ability to consume time and energy. Attempting to mow the lawn with little ones around is simply impractical. My partner usually handles the mowing, but when weekends roll around, I’d much rather have their help with the kids than see them retreat into yard work. Thus, our lawn is rarely mowed, and our backyard is essentially a wilderness where a machete might be required for navigation.
Our power company has even complained, necessitating the removal of some small trees to improve access to an electrical line. The backyard could really use a chainsaw, but that’s not safe with kids around, and tackling the mess is a daunting task that isn’t happening anytime soon.
At least the front yard has some semblance of grass that doesn’t grow too high—thanks to the dandelions, which thrive amidst the scattered toys and broken pots. While our bog garden flourishes with minimal maintenance, it’s a small oasis amidst the disarray.
We might be lowering property values and giving off the impression of neighborhood troublemakers. I often fantasize about a neighbor selling their house and offering to send a lawn service our way—a luxury we can’t afford. It’s a dream akin to owning a functioning weed whacker.
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In summary, while my yard may not win any neighborhood beauty contests, it reflects the reality of a busy life filled with children and adventures. The chaos of our outdoor space is a testament to our priorities, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.