||[Jul. 30th, 2016|11:11 am]
The lawn is a beautifully understated English way of saying, "Look how fucking rich I am!"|
Large areas of monotonously green, inedible grass are beautiful. Or that's what successive generations of landscape gardeners told successive generations of weak-minded landowners. Lancelot Capability Brown- or someone like him- started the rot- and it quickly spread worldwide because if the English milords were doing it it had to be the thing to do.
Actually an unmown meadow full of wildflowers, or a field of waving corn is far lovelier, but...
Neither of these things proclaim wealth quite so brazenly and wastefully.
The man with the lawn is letting you know he has lots of land but doesn't need to put it into cultivation because his vast income is derived from
his West Indian slave plantations other sources. Also that he has cash to throw away on mowing and weeding and watering and rolling. A lawn doesn't keep itself, you know.
Lawns are good for playing croquet and tennis on and gliding over in swooshy dresses. Otherwise....
I've got lawns on the mind because ours is being turned into a scale model of the Bernese Oberland by moles. My mother when she still cared about such things used to call in the moletrapper but I like the moles- with their fine disregard for 18th century aesthetic norms- and what I do is to go out with my spade and little wheelbarrow and remove their earthworks. It leaves a bit of a mess behind but, well, see above for my feelings on the subject. What a lot of soil the moles do raise! I fill my barrow and then next day I fill it again. I wonder the lawn doesn't collapse into the galleries they've dug.