the meadow (your yard looks awful)
- Melinda
- Jun 27
- 8 min read
Updated: Jul 29
the meadow (your yard looks awful)
Driving by my home, you might feel inclined to quickly judge us. Declare us lazy. Perhaps shake your head at our shameful indifference to proper lawn-care etiquette. Maybe, if you're the forgiving type, you might wonder if the lawnmower is broken, and if so, how long it'll take us to finally repair it.
And truthfully, up until several years ago I probably would have wondered the same about you, had the situation been reversed. When a neatly trimmed lawn is option A, what more is there to consider? In fact, as an exceedingly tidy and organized human myself, option A is how I've lived my entire adult life until recently. Until I intentionally and deliberately chose option B. And I can assure you that it's not because we're lazy, or reluctant to fix our lawn equipment. Nor is it because we're trying to tick off the neighbors. The true spark that ignited this small revolution of ours?
We love birds.
And we're not afraid to show it.
I'm well aware, however, that our bird-loving front yard does indeed look shaggy, overgrown, and unkempt to certain individuals. And while I know that there are those who would frown upon our choice, I personally see our au naturel lawn as something of a masterpiece. Those thigh-high grasses are actually there on purpose. And if you were to ask my opinion? I'd tell you—emphatically—that I find the whole thing crazy beautiful. Wild and free. Hypnotizing, even. In fact, I berate myself for not having done this long ago, and my family has affectionately dubbed this lush space: The Meadow.
Our main goal was to create a clean and safe wildlife habitat—not only for the birds, but for all the critters we share this space with. In the overall scheme of things, our front yard is so small as to be laughable, but I still like to think of it as something of a haven. In miniature. A grassy nook completely free from all of the dangerous poisons that so many carelessly douse their lawns with. Wildlife aside, does no one ponder the repercussions of letting their small children and/or pets romp through these chemicals? Chemicals that require a little, yellow warning sign to alert us all of their toxic presence?
I truly find this perplexing to the point of incomprehensible, and I struggle to understand as I pass these glorious country estates—neatly dotted with yellow warning signs—on my morning walk. Sure, they look magnificent, but at what and whose expense? Are they aware of the horrifying fact that sixty-seven million birds die each year from pesticide poisoning? And don't even get me started on the poor honeybees.
I'm certainly not trying to shame anyone for wanting a bug-free, homogeneous lawn, but one of the things that most distresses me about our current world is the fact that hardly anyone seems to consider the consequences. Of anything. Perhaps I tend to overthink them, but how much clearer does "sixty-seven million birds" have to be in order to effect change? I think we can all agree that's a helluva lot of birds.
So? We made a stand. Again. For the birds and for the bees. For our Earth and all of the animals that roam it with us. Consequently, my lawn now appears as though it's in desperate need of a haircut. And I can just imagine that if one of those perfectly manicured lawns were to catch sight of mine, they would surely think it homeless with its abundance of "weeds" and untamed grass gone to seed. Heaving sad sighs, those lawns of high-esteem would pity my unruly meadow and its lack of human care. They'd lament its abject state of "neglect.”
Or, and here's a thought… maybe they wouldn’t. Because when you remove humans from Mother Nature she's been known to recover rapidly—bouncing back with aplomb. She shakes off the mess we humans have created for her and then thrives again. And regardless of whether or not we want to admit it, we need Mother Nature far, far more than she needs us. Especially when we approach her armed with poisons.
The "problem," however, is that Mother Nature isn’t a uniform sea of ryegrass. She's dandelions and ragweed. Plantain and mullein. She's beetles, worms, wasps, spiders, caterpillars, and aphids. Variety abounds when you give her plant kingdom free rein, drawing in an unbelievable assortment of bugs. Which, in turn, draw in catbirds and robins. Which, in turn, draw in hawks and owls. And that drawing in just keeps on creeping up the food chain. Perhaps, at times, it can all seem a somewhat ruthless system of checks and balances, but it works. Beautifully. And precious equilibrium is maintained.
So three years ago, in a fit of rebellious springtime inspiration, I did indeed make the decision to turn our unused front yard over to those who would actually use and benefit from it. To those who, perhaps rightly, it belongs to. And so? We simply stopped mowing. Put up some birdhouses. Started watching. And waited for the magic to happen.
What kind of birds would our habitat draw in? What kind of four-legged critters would want to investigate it? My family and I chattered about it endlessly as the grasses slowly grew and began swaying—gloriously—in the warm summer winds. As the plants that had been relentlessly mown down for years, now shot towards the sky. As the flowers unfurled their pretty little petals to the sun. We've been patiently waiting to see how our experiment would unfold and, three years later, the verdict is in: The Meadow does not disappoint.
Each day, the first thing I do is peer out my bedroom window to see what I can spy in the tall grasses below. Today it might be some wild turkeys. Tomorrow, a doe and her fawns. Every day, rabbits galore. One morning, a handsome coyote trotted by not once, but twice, while I watched spellbound. And the birds? They adore it. Swallows swoop and bluebirds dive, and I think that perhaps I'm a fool for not having done this for them sooner.
So far this year, our birdhouses have been hotspots of productive—and captivating—activity. An Eastern Bluebird couple successfully fledged five babies, and they’re building nest #2 for the second brood. The Tree Swallows just recently launched their precious six and our fingers are crossed that they come back for another round. I can hear a family of Northern House Wrens growing rapidly—and loudly—in their cozy box just outside our soap room.
On any given day, there’s something to marvel over and the bird bustle is non-stop and wildly entertaining. I can’t even begin to count how many times I’ve crept over to the window, lured in by the sounds of splashing, and watched birds happily taking their daily bath. Or cheered Mrs. Bluebird on as she tried valiantly to get that too-long piece of nesting material through her front door. Or shook my head in amazement over how very LOUD baby birds can be.
Honestly? Some days I feel as though I'm starring in my own personal Disney movie. Does Snow White have a sister? Because I'd be willing to audition for the part. Each evening as I head to the compost bin with the day's food waste, I want to whistle some snappy, little Disney tune as I sidestep one adorable critter after another. A pair of bunnies nibbling to my left. A mama groundhog and her (very naughty) babies grazing to the right. Squirrels screaming behind. A chipmunk stuffing its cheeks ahead. Birds bursting forth in song up above. Trees shading me. Honeysuckle in the air. The summer breeze on my skin. Truly, it makes me think it isn't so hard to bring Heaven down to earth. All we need, perhaps, is an abundance of broken lawn equipment.
This year, we’ve decided it’s time to take our plan to the next stage. The Meadow is glorious, but we’re hungry for more. Inspired by a local woman who’s transformed her property into a bird’s paradise, we’re now in the process of eliminating the invasive plant species that inhabit The Meadow and replacing them with native ones. This is a long-term project, one that we’re tackling bit by bite-sized bit.
My focus right now is on the tenacious bedstraw that’s stealthily creeping through the grasses. I’ve also decided that while the Multiflora Rose bush smells heavenly, her invasive ways threaten to quickly take over, and so it must go. As we work to eradicate those, we’re simultaneously sprinkling in things like Sneezeweed, St. Johns Wort, Native Columbine, Beardtongue Foxglove, Elderberry, and Wild Geranium.
It feels natural that this project matures alongside all of the baby birds it’s supporting, and our plans are big—and grow bigger each day. Like just this week when I decided it’s time to create wandering paths through the backyard while letting the rest grow wild and dotting it with native bushes and shrubs. Installing a small frog pond is also on the agenda, and I’m already looking forward to bringing that project to life. Eventually, though. Maybe once this bedstraw has been conquered.
Sometimes I fancy myself a pioneer of sorts, but then I realize that all I've done is tap into a newborn—but growing—collective energy. I've been told that Meadows are now becoming "a thing" as more and more people shift their focus onto the plight of the environment and our careless contribution to its suffering. I can’t help but wonder if it's the younger generation breaking the rules—sweeping in and shaking things up as they're prone to do. Doing their very best to make some noise and wake up the older and more rigid among us to the problems in plain sight. To the self-created disasters that we pretend not to see in the name of convenience, selfishness, and greed.
To which I can only shout: hallelujah. For the boldness of any and all rule-breakers—no matter their age. For the push of anyone courageous enough to make change, even in the face of formidable obstacles. I'm not generally a "follower," but this meadow bandwagon is one that I won't hesitate to jump on. In fact, I already have, even before I knew I'd done so.
But sadly, while the birds are grateful for us and our Meadow, not everyone feels the same level of appreciation. This became abundantly clear to me after reaching into my mailbox one morning and pulling out a hastily scrawled note that read: Your yard looks awful. It isn’t pretty.
It came as no surprise to me that not everyone sees the magic of The Meadow through our eyes, but the unfavorable judgment of my neighbor certainly wasn’t about to sway me. Or overrule the collectively favorable opinion of the birds. And honestly, in retrospect I realize that perhaps I should be grateful for her criticism because she inadvertently named our soap. Probably not what she intended, but still. Thanks, neighbor.
This certainly isn’t the first time I've found my decisions frowned upon, criticized, and/or resisted. Nor do I presume it will be the last. But I definitely haven't lost any sleep over it, because while some humans might not approve of our wild ways, I sense that Mother Nature most assuredly does. And that? Is good enough for me.
Thanks so much for reading and don't forget to hug a tree today. Or lay in the grass. Or sit by a stream. Or watch the clouds. Or... ;)
Much love,
Melinda
P.S. Like videos of people making soap? Me too! You can check out this one of Scotty and I making a bar of The Meadow (your yard looks awful). I've included a montage of Meadow videos at the end :)
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