A few years ago, I gave away my lawnmower. It had been an important part of my life in the sunny suburbs, but I knew that I would not be using it in my new home. My wife and I had bought a fixer upper in the redwoods, and the chance of growing grass was little to none. Redwood coverage is not known for its ability to admit light. The problem was exacerbated by the fact that the new back yard was composed entirely of clay landfill dumped by the former owner of the property.
What little money we did have left over we needed to spend on the remodel, so I left the backyard to fend for itself during the first few years. I was not happy with the way the back yard looked, but decided it was a low priority.
Once the house was fixed up to our satisfaction, I looked around and decided that it was time to tackle the barren patch of ground that lay between our deck and the beautiful hill that adjoins the back of our property. Still broke, I decided that the only sensible solution was to work with what was indigenous to the area.
My problem was runoff. Every summer, a few tendrils of native vegetation too root, only to be swept away with the harsh winter rains of Northern California.
The first thing I needed to realize was that speed matters when it comes to runoff. I got some cheap stepping-stones from the local hardware store and laid down a walkway so that I could go back and forth to the firewood pile without having to wade through the mud.
The following summer, I bought several bags of sand. I had used bales of straw in other places I had lived but found that it took too long for the straw to break down. I liked the feel of the sand in my toes and, although it tracked a bit, it was far better than the dust that would otherwise accompany me inside.
Winter came and I found that the sand had begun to pack down, but more than that, it had started to hold moisture and nutrients. The woods were always depositing elements, but instead of just washing away, they were now being incorporated in with the sand. A small patch of indigenous clover sprouted and after a few months covered about a third of the area of the yard between where I had laid my walk and the fence.
Next, I made a border for the edges of the yard, using logs that I had scavenged from the woods. These pieces of dead fall not only provided a rustic charm, but they acted as incubators for other small plants, providing nutrients as they decomposed. In winter, they are covered with moss, and in the summer, they provide a border that keeps the unsecured topsoil from drifting away.
Of course, topsoil is a strong word to sue for what is there now, but with a couple of bags of sand, some patio bricks that serve a dual purpose, and a minimal amount of watering in the summer, I now have a back yard that is pleasing to the eyes as well as easy to care for. This summer will be only my second year of yard work, which will consist of raking another two bags of sand across the yard.
I have planted a lilac and jasmine as a border between our yard and the hill, and all through the spring and summer, a lovely fragrance drifts down to infuse our deck with aroma. Forget-me-nots and Douglas Iris volunteer in the spring and a bank of morning glory I planted this year will soon dot the hill with their beautiful purple flowers. Nothing needs more than a few minutes of water each week and I have not touched a lawnmower since I left the suburbs.
