In this age of lawn bashing, let me say this: I am not anti-lawn. Lawn is useful for picnicking, playing sports, throwing a ball for the dog, sunbathing, and providing a restful bit of green amid a garden. A lawn of needed size, maintained without dumping chemicals and excessive water on it, can be an asset to the garden.

That said, here’s the reality of many lawns, at least many that I see here in Austin: large expanses of thirsty or invasive, exotic turf grasses that suck up expensive water and require hours of noisy, polluting mowing and leaf blowing each week from March through November. Seasonal applications of chemical fertilizers and pesticides may be applied as well, making the lawn toxic for people, pets, birds, beneficial insects, and other creatures that bring life to our landscapes. And after all that money and time spent on maintenance, what does the average homeowner get in return? A boring, green monoculture that, especially in the front yard, never gets used by anyone.

There are so many better choices, even for the person who doesn’t want to tend an ornamental or edible garden. One low-maintenance option is the meadow. As grass-ecology expert John Greenlee defines it in his book The American Meadow Garden: Creating a Natural Alternative to the Traditional Lawn, meadows are simply “grassy spaces that are not mowed and maintained like conventional lawn.” Published in 2009, Greenlee’s book is riding the anti-lawn movement, which continues to attract converts as water becomes an ever more precious—and expensive—resource in many parts of the country and as recognition grows of the traditional lawn’s wastefulness and detrimental effects on the environment.

What most people like about a lawn—openness, its relative ease of care (compared to a traditional garden), walkability, basic groundcovering—can be achieved with meadows, Greenlee argues. Though plant choices will differ across growing regions, the common denominator of the meadow is a grassy foundation with a diversity of flowering plants mixed in. Many of the meadows he showcases in his book are California-centric, but he also includes a couple of examples from “the punishing climate of central Texas,” where meadows must have “a strong foundation of…grasses, as most color from flowering accents is fleeting under the relentless heat and humidity of the region’s climate.” Um, yeah. We central Texans intuitively know this. After all, spring is when our meadows shine brightest, when bluebonnets and other native wildflowers color grassy fields in a glorious, short-lived explosion before the heat of summer sends them into dormancy. Still, meadows seem well-suited to our climate, with the plant-rich Blackland prairie of east Austin offering one model (see the Mueller neighborhood’s green spaces) and the short, clumping grasses of the arid Hill Country to our west offering another aesthetic.

Photographer Saxon Holt provides the eye candy for Greenlee’s book, with inspiring images of meadows in bloom and close-ups of meadow-appropriate plants. If you’re looking for an alternative to your traditional lawn, Greenlee’s eloquence about meadows and Holt’s photos will certainly make you want to try one in at least part of your yard or garden. My only quibble is that the how-to section in the back of the book is brief and, frankly, would prove daunting to the average non-gardening homeowner. (Despite its carefree appearance, a meadow is not a cinch to install.) But then this isn’t really a book for the average non-gardening homeowner, though he or she might benefit most from a meadowy lawn substitute. With its coffee-table-worthy formatting and exquisite pictures The American Meadow Garden is a gardener’s garden book. Greenlee is preaching to the choir, but his words of praise for the humble meadow are inspiring and well worth a listen.

Disclosure: This book was sent to me for review by Timber Press. I did not pay for the book, nor was I compensated for my review, which is, like everything in Digging, my own honest opinion.

All material © 2006-2011 by Pam Penick for Digging. Unauthorized reproduction prohibited.

Stalking the urban prairie high atop eight metal legs, her bulbous abdomen glittering with blue and green gazing balls, this 23-ft. tall Shelob-sized spider by Houston artist Dixie Friend Gay (titled ‘Arachnophilia’) is one of three larger-than-life sculptures placed amid native plants and crushed-granite jogging trails at Mueller (pronounced Miller), a New Urbanist community in east-central Austin.

A closer look at the spider’s abdomen. She appears to have been feasting in a Victorian garden full of gazing balls.

Mueller Airport closed to air traffic 10 years ago, replaced by a bigger international airport southeast of downtown. Now single-family homes on small lots, row houses, and apartments occupy land once reserved for runways, and the developers tout the community’s green-building program and water-wise landscaping. At first glance it looks like a pretty cool place to live, but Mom and I were just visiting last Friday, checking out the restored Blackland prairie and fun sculptures in the Southwest Greenway, like ‘Wigwam,’ this 17-ft. tall tower by Austin artist Chris Levack. A labyrinth of native grasses and sprawling Lindheimer senna spirals to a termination point under the tower.

Numerous kidneywood trees (Eysenhardtia texana) were in full bloom, which meant the bees were aswoon and so was I: the flowers smell absolutely delightful. I grew one of these small, airy native trees in my old garden, and I loved its citrus-scented leaves and fragrant white flower spikes that appear throughout the summer.

My nose was pressed to the flowers for a dreamy moment.

From this vantage point you can see two of Chris Levack’s sculptures at the same time. (In fact, I think they’re placed rather too close together and should have been given more prominence through separation.) The spherical sculpture next to ‘Wigwam’ tower is called ‘Pollen Grain.’ More about it in a moment.

Turning back to the plants, I noticed that some areas are planted in single-specimen arrangements: a large swath of black dalea (Dalea frutescens) here; nearby, distinct plantings of prickly pear, damianita, and a sad patch of purple coneflower that appeared not to have survived the summer. It’s a contemporary treatment, with each group of plants set off from the others by edging.

Crouching for a better look at the black dalea, I heard a steady, deep humming that told me the whole swath was alive with bees. Between the kidneywood and the dalea, the bees were very happy indeed.

Near the dalea, a tunnel of desert willow (Chilopsis linearis) shelters a curving path with benches. Lovers’ lane?

The trail winds its way through the straddling legs of Levack’s ‘Pollen Grain’, a 14-ft. tall sphere that represents a microscopic grain of pollen. I learned this from the artist’s wife, who happened to be running past, heard us talking about it, and stopped to tell us that her husband had made it. It was a fun chance encounter.

Detail of ‘Pollen Grain’

We had already exclaimed over the unique drain covers that my mom declared a snake design. Levack’s wife told us that he designed those too. I love the craftsmanship given even to such utilitarian objects.

Among the spineless prickly pear (Opuntia) one was still blooming.

A blazing sunflower caught my eye too.

Winding our way to the giant spider we admired this arrangement of softleaf yucca (Y. recurvifolia), agave, native grasses, and lantana. The spiky plants provide evergreen structure and lead the eye through the scene; the other plants provide texture and seasonal color. Deer would not favor any of these, except for the yucca blooms.

An emerging flower spike on a softleaf yucca

Seeing as the spider was either preparing to pounce or waving goodbye, we took our leave. But I’ll be back soon with my kids in tow so they too can appreciate the sights, sounds, and sweet smells of Mueller’s greenbelts.

Other bloggers’ perspectives on Mueller:
Lee visited during bluebonnet season. See The Grackle’s March post about Mueller.
Meredith recently posted about the Southwest Greenway at Great Stems and shows the early-fall scene.

All material © 2006-2009 by Pam Penick for Digging. Unauthorized reproduction prohibited.

Cloud Gate, popularly known as the Bean, in Millennium Park

I would return to Chicago for the gardens alone. From street-corner planting boxes filled with tumbling perennials and annuals to prairie-style Lurie Garden to the vast Botanic Garden, Chicago had my head swiveling to take it all in. My husband and I flew up for the marathon, which he ran on Sunday despite dreadfully hot conditions, and we stayed for two more days to sightsee. It was a first visit for both of us.

After watching the race from several locations on Sunday morning, I walked to Millennium Park to meet my husband at the finish line. Along the way, I came upon the magnificent stainless-steel sculpture Cloud Gate, pictured at top, and Lurie Garden, an open vista of ornamental grasses and prairie perennials sheltered by a tall, evergreen hedge, the skyscrapers beyond providing a second vertical backdrop.

In collaboration with Gustafson Guthrie Nichol Ltd., Piet Oudolf designed the perennial planting, and his signature sweeps of grasses glowed incandescently in the late-morning sunlight, in glorious peak bloom.

Despite its proximity to the finish line, where the heat-plagued marathon straggled to an end, Lurie Garden was nearly deserted, to my delight. I wandered along its paths, stopping to take in the large views and the close-ups, like this aster.

Old and new buildings stand shoulder to shoulder beyond the garden. In the foreground, the rust, copper, and tan hues of autumn play across the grasses, perennials, and ornamental trees.

More grasses

A seasonal sign helpfully identified the dominant grasses, a mix of exotic and native.

Coneflowers, gone to seed, stand erect and distinct like skyscrapers in miniature.

Although the temperature didn’t reflect it, fall had arrived in Chicago.

Earlier that morning, I watched the runners fly past at approximately the 1-mile mark. The heat hadn’t yet taken its toll.

But by the 12-mile point, the fatigue and strain was evident. Hordes of runners pressed on anyway, bless ‘em, and we spectators, sweaty just standing there and watching, cheered them on. It’s inspiring to watch a marathon. Don’t ask me to run one though.

After the race, limping back to the hotel, one happy runner shows off his hard-earned finisher’s medal.

Click for my first post about the gorgeous Chicago Botanic Garden, where we spent most of Tuesday. I’ll leave you with another photo of the Bean.

Update: Click here for my post about Lurie Garden in spring bloom.