Precisely like BBC Planet Earth, but lower stakes and far less interesting
So we need to talk about a misfortune that happened to me that is uniquely American for a variety of reasons, and in order to do that we need to go on a journey.
First, you are probably aware that lawns are bad? They are bad. By land area, the #1 plant that we have in the United States is grass.
We can’t eat grass. Mostly we just look at grass. Grass is hard to pollinate, it’s not great for butterflies, it’s not great for a diverse ecosystem, and it’s not great for drainage. In short, grass does not support nature – and grass especially does not support nature in a big city, which is already hostile enough to the broader ecosystem. To support this argument, behold: there are anti-lawn memes.
My front yard has been grass since I moved into this place. I got a crappy push mower, took it out a few times a year, and have mostly ignored it. My backyard is the one that’s full of native pollinators, a riotous, impossible jungle full of monarchs & fireflies all summer long.
The only reason my front yard has been grass for so long is because, until last year, Chicago had an ordinance on the books that required everyone to have a reasonably manicured lawn. Native gardens were effectively banned in the front of your house. The fine was $600. Nobody won an appeal until 2020.
In September 2021, a native garden registry was finally approved by City Council. Note: native gardens were not approved by City Council. If you have a native garden, you have to put it on the registry, exempting you from any fines. This, presumably, has been done in order to account for lawns going feral on abandoned lots.
Anticipating this law being passed, last August I hired a bunch of people to completely dig up the front of my house and replace it with fresh soil. Then I covered it with native seed, watered it a few times a week, and waited. Even though the ordinance eventually got approved, the registry was never built. It is still not built as of press time. My plants are growing well.
So, to recap:
- I have a native front yard.
- It needs to be registered with the city to avoid a $600 fine.
- It cannot be registered with the city, because there is no registry.
Searching for answers, a friend told me to get my place certified as a natural wildlife habitat. Perhaps they heard of someone doing this to fend off inspectors. Perhaps they just think it would be nice for me to do. In order to get certified, I needed to give birds a place to wash themselves & drink fresh water. So I built a rudimentary birdbath in part of the front yard. Now I have a nice metal sign in my front yard, slowly being covered by native pollinators, that tells my neighbors that I am nice to nature.
As I write this, a family of robins built a nest above my front light. I count two parents and three chicks. Occasionally, a tuxedo cat stands on my front bannister, looking upwards, meowing ceaselessly. A few times a day, a 5’8” human walks out of the front door, often with their very nice border collie in tow.
The birds have so far failed to appreciate this tapestry of urban life. They feel threatened. They attack the cat. They swoop at the human. They chirp at the dog. They flee to the linden tree across the median and chirp some more. They fly back once we’re gone and crap on my welcome mat.
Ornithologist Jon Young, in What the Robin Knows:
The bird plow is created when a person (or other perceived and immediate danger) appears suddenly and with a brisk trajectory—somewhat ignoring the impact he is having on his surroundings. The bird plow is marked by a rush of birds flying up and away in a straight-line trajectory from an approaching threat on the ground.
Later:
The most common cause of the plow is the abrupt, heedless, uncaring entry into a given habitat by people.
We are each of us bird plows of one, terrorizing, endlessly terrorizing. They just want a place to raise their family. I cannot blame them for their desire for safety. I see myself in this. And the world is harder for them than it is for me.
At the same time, due to the actions of the Chicago City Council, my front porch is now covered with bird crap that I cannot wash away unless I want a bunch of robin chicks to be abandoned. The current grim display of defecation & predation wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t installed the bird bath. I wouldn’t have installed the bird bath if I hadn’t registered my house as a “certified natural habitat.” (What does that mean, anyway?) And I wouldn’t have certified my natural habitat if it weren’t for the incompetence of City Council. Also, I now have to prepare for robins attacking me & my dog every time I want to leave my house.
I have notified my friends of this, because people come over all the time, and 20 others have keys to my house. The general response is of horror at the bird poop, shot through with some academic wonder at the birds, stirred with profound confusion as to why I’m not really doing anything about it.
I could remove the bird bath, but then I’m depriving birds of an important resource. I could try to get the nest taken away, but I have no idea who to call who would keep the birds safe. In either case, I don’t think it would end well. And I’m pretty sure I’m still at risk of being fined by the city.
So I’m going to watch this couple try to raise their family, and I’m going to keep watching this cat try to murder the family. I hope the cat fails. I hope the birds fail to attack me. I hope the dog never notices.