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Grass.

This word is a shortcut for a family of plants containing as many as 12,000 unique species. Sadly, for the vast majority of people in the US and Europe, this word has become synonymous with another cultural phenomenon: the lawn. We say cultural phenomenon, but in keeping with one of the central theses of this project, we should clarify that the lawn is in fact both a cultural and ecological phenomenon.

The American lawn was pressed like a violent brand into the flesh of this land by European colonizers. It is thought to have been introduced around the time of Thomas Jefferson’s presidency during the first decade of the 19th century. Jefferson himself may have been one of the first to introduce a European-style lawn at his Monticello estate in Charlottesville, Virginia–right in the heart of Appalachia. The lawn, then, emerged as one of the first symbols of the vast wealth disparity that would come to characterize the region for centuries to come.

To be sure, it was not the hands of the founding fathers who prepared the ground, installed, and maintained these early lawns. Rather, this arduous labor was carried out by enslaved Africans long before the invention of the modern lawn mower. The freshly tamed sea of rolling green, though, was much more than a symbol of wealth, colonial violence, slavery, and gentrification. The appearance of the lawn upon the American landscape also represents a dark shift in evolutionary history–that is, the usurpation of elitist aesthetic preferences over ecological health.

This does not mean there were no human interactions with these landscapes before the domestic lawn or the introduction of European horticultural practices. Indigenous peoples had engaged the land for millennia prior to the European invasion, storing a wealth of traditional knowledges–many of which have been lost to genocide. The remainder are under significant threat of extinction. In disparate contradiction to this complex web of traditional indigenous knowledges, the lawn also signifies a core characteristic of the colonial imagination. In conjunction with the religious narratives that picture humans existing in dominion over the earth and the hubris of the Enlightenment and the Industrial Revolution, the lawn itself represents a significant shift away from an understanding of the human as an ecologically embedded species.

The statistics associated with the American lawn today are nothing short of breathtaking. More than 40 million acres of the American landscape are covered by turfgrass lawns, requiring an estimated 9 billion gallons of water PER DAY to sustain–that is ⅓ of all residential water usage in the US. What’s more, 90 million pounds of fertilizer and 70 million pounds of pesticides are dumped on these lawns annually to ensure homogeneity and the deceptively lush green.

In terms of stormwater absorption, the American lawn might as well be an impervious parking lot. In Vol 1 Issue 2 of Mergoat Magazine, Kathryn Kolb reminded us that turf lawns and their shallow roots shed no less than 70% of the rainwater that falls on them. Comparatively, the foliage of native grasslands and woodlands allows for massive capture and transpiration before stormwater even touches the ground. What’s more, deep fibrous roots of native grasses and trees create a more porous substrate, allowing for deep absorption during major rain events. Some studies suggest that average forests absorb up to fourteen inches of water per hour, compared to the average two inches per hour absorbed by lawns.

The toxic runoff from lawns in addition to the exponentially higher rate of stormwater runoff has led to a tragic situation for our watersheds–even before accounting for the inputs from agriculture, dams, and industrial-scale commercial waste. When these grim realities are considered in relation to the fact that lawns support little to no life, one begins to wonder why the hell our society still believes this cultural artifice is an acceptable landscape strategy.

The American lawn is not only one of the primary symbols of entrenched coloniality and white supremacy within our society, but it is frequently made up of invasive species. Bermuda grass (Cynodon dactylon), “Kentucky” bluegrass (Poa pratensis), tall fescue (Festuca arundinacea), and zoysia grass (Zoysia spp.) are all common non-native invasive species used in the production of the American lawn. What's more, in an effort to at once mask their social status and comply with city ordinances, folks who cannot afford homogenous lawns often resort to mowing whatever mixture of herbaceous plants are present around their house. Even these mixed “lawns” tend to be made up of invasive species mixed with some of the grasses listed above, plants like nut sedge, johnson grass, garlic mustard, crab grass, wintercreeper, privet, and creeping charlie.

In this issue of Mergoat Magazine, we launch a sweeping polemic against the American lawn and the epistemology, politics, and social conditions that sustain it.

What is the history of the American lawn?

How does this history relate directly to Appalachia?

What are the political implications of the American Lawn?

Does the American lawn reflect epistemological relations to white supremacy and fascism?

How do notions of cleanliness, disgust, and dominion figure in the epistemology of lawns?

What does a post-lawn society look like?

Can the rich be convinced to relinquish their lawns for the benefit of a thriving and biodiverse world?