Caitlin, age two, is in my front yard surrounding Agatha. Agatha is a beautiful ornamental grass in front of my pink beach house that the lawn crew put there to make my yard lovely. Caitlin, for her part, isn’t a bad girl. Not to me, but she is misunderstood. Caitin is a weed.
As a resident of middle class suburbia, I supposedly have an ethical obligation to tear her roots from the ground or burn her with herbicide. Weeds cannot be allowed to thrive. But Caitlin isn’t poisonous, not to my knowledge anyway. She isn’t burning our crops or tearing down democracy. Humanity just decided that she wasn’t pretty emough. Her tenacity and verdant vivacity do not impress the yard police. But they tug at my heart strings.
When I buy my forever home, I don’t want a well manicured lawn. I want a moss garden or a biologically diverse group of grasses and wildflowers born to thrive in whatever climate we have settled in. I will not need a lawn mower. I want a wild yard that’s good for bees and butterflies and pollinators in general. Not a green wasteland. A golf course yard.
So for now, I leave Caitlin alone. I can’t be guarantee maintenance won’t dig her up when we leave, but I hope she gets to live a long life.
Life at Home 