An Open Letter From Concerned Neighborhood Lawns

Tom Navratil
Tom Navratil
November 15, 2021

Dear Weedpatch, or as you refer to yourself, “Meadow,”

The Lawns of Foxfire Lane would like to remind you that this area is zoned residential. Don’t expect the rest of us to lie down and do nothing while you pretend to be your own little nature preserve.

This isn’t the Russian steppe. This isn’t the Serengeti. This is a respectable, suburban neighborhood of single-family homes and nice, lush, well-kept lawns — with one appalling exception. You.

The rest of us have had it up to the tips of our blades with your goody-goody ecology and soil wellness. Oh, aren’t you so very proud of your precious “biodiversity?” You go around flaunting your no-fertilizer, no-herbicide lifestyle like it’s something to be proud of. Gag. That kind of elitism makes us sick.

Shape up. Now. That unkempt, devil-may-care “look” is bad enough during spring and summer, but your utter disregard for our agreed-upon standards is even more problematic come fall. We all get our leaves blown once or even twice a week, while yours just lie there. As if that’s even a real option! No sooner do we get ourselves nice and cleaned up than a gust comes along and spreads your leaf litter all over us. Gross!

And grow up and mow yourself once in a while! Your unruly appearance is atrocious. Crabgrass, daisies, dandelions, buttercups, strings of ivy, and probably a hundred other species of God-knows-what. No one wants to be seen anywhere near you. Even the dogs on this street refuse to squat on your so-called turf. Maybe you’re unfamiliar with the term “property values,” but we have pre-war, German cottages with renovated three-car garages to protect, and your “free-spirit ways” jeopardize all that we hold dear.

You think we’re a bunch of conformists, but if you would bother to do your research, you’d find out that some of us are fescue and others are tall fescue.

By the way, you’ve got moss in your sidewalk cracks and wildflowers spilling over the curb. Not to mention your saplings. Clean yourself up. This is not what Foxfire Lane is about.

If you can’t be a real lawn, consider turning yourself into a rock garden. We’d all be more than happy to chip in to buy you a concrete birdbath.


The Lawns — You Know Which Ones