The Perfect Lawn: Climate Change, National Security, and Death

In spring of 2015, a number of satirical articles and polls were coming about the moment when Americans would really start to care about climate change. No, we would not care when reading horrifying statistics about carbon dioxide levels in the atmosphere. We would not care when hearing about melting ice in the Arctic. However, we are going to care when we step outside our front doors into our beautiful, lovely, and…oh…completely dead lawn. Yellow grass is immediate, tangible, and an affront to the American Dream of a picture perfect little life. Our love affair with the perfect lawn has several roots (pun intended). The early idealization hails from England, where the lush greenery comes natural and large manor houses with idyllic gardens are a status symbol. Crossing the ocean, the recreation of this painting posed several problems. First, America’s soil has a significantly different composition. Those of us on the East coast would shudder with dread and whisper “clay.” The British air can best be described as moist, whereas we fluctuate between humid and bone dry based on the time of year. Much like we will never be Kate Middleton, our lawns will never attain such status. But, we try. In the post-World War II era, Americans aimed for cookie cutter houses with matching yards. We were going to win the Cold War, not least with perfectly manicured lawns that showed the world our strength and success. America would defeat the Soviets because of superior nuclear strength and amazing grass. My 4500 sq ft plot of land has a similar history to what I have described so far. The land beneath my feet was once Fort Lyon, part of the Union defenses of Washington, DC during the Civil War. Fast forward to 1947, the land was divided up into near identical duplexes to house many of the veterans returning from Europe and the Pacific. Had the Cuban Missile Crisis resulted in nuclear warfare, my house would have been toast. While the walls of my house are built to withstand the test of time, my soil is—as you would guess—clay. Occasionally, I find odd things in the clay that were either intentionally buried to break down and add iron or are perhaps artifacts. Digging is always an adventure. The quest for superiority, in national security and lawn care, was attained by pursuing bigger, better, and faster tactics. On one hand, we had an arms race and missile defense program that darn near bankrupt the Soviets. On the other, chemicals and industrial mowers created the illusion of a lawn, albeit one that required constant care and vast amounts of water. Justifying the win out-shadowed major concerns, like a lack of a coherent strategy in Vietnam. Still today, we apply nasty chemicals that are known to be linked to cancer because these make the yard greener. Mission accomplished? In October 2015, Montgomery County became the first locality to ban cosmetic pesticides on private lawns, which is astonishing on many levels. According to NASA, there are some 101,788 sq miles of lawn in the continental United States, which is three times bigger than the land used to irrigate crops. Watering this requires as much as 180 to 240 gallons of water per person per day. In most places, the home owner has the right to use chemicals that can kill. These chemicals enter our collective ground water and run into our streets, touching the paws of animals and the hands of children. With water crises like Flint, Michigan and elsewhere, it is unconscionable that we would so vainly waste and intentionally poison water. As a practitioner and lecturer on security issues, I found myself intoxicated by the thrill of the green yard as a retreat from studying war and violence. Uneducated, I was part of the problem and took whatever the hardware store handed me. I applied fertilizer, weed preventer, bug killer, and anything else that seemed like it would help me create my private oasis. Then two things happened. First, these products did not work well. My lawn struggled and I still had weeds. It was becoming addicted to chemicals and required constant feeding, like the user who needs the next hit of heroin to function. My lawn was mutually assured destruction where whatever product I tried required another and then another to keep things stable. Then, the voice in the back of my head chimed in: “what is in these products?” Also, as I own the most adorable French Bulldog on the planet: “why does a pet-safe product require my dog to stay off the lawn for hours?” So I shut down my chemical rotation, just as the US had to pull the plug on Star Wars, and switched to only organic products. For the climate and national security, organic lawn care is mission critical. In-between teaching William & Mary students about national security, I follow a relatively easy (and cheaper) rotation of all-natural products that, however unpleasant these may taste, I could eat. Sitting on the front stoop reading about terrorism, I call out to a neighbor that their puppy is welcome and safe on my yard. The products that I apply improve my soil and our planet. When necessary, I water from the rain barrel or hose once a week for only an hour to encourage my grass to grow deep, self-sustaining roots. For any who is still holding onto their “right” to use chemicals, I leave you with one closing argument. My yard is nicer, greener, and more environmentally friendly than yours, and not killing you.   About the author: Kathryn H. Floyd lectures on security topics for the College of William & Mary and is the Vice President of Medauras Global. As her next career, she just might start an organic lawn care company. Floyd can be reached at @khfloyd, where she may or may not tell you her secrets to a beautiful lawn.