The fact that nobody else in Maine has a chamomile lawn ought probably to be a deterrent from me attempting this landscaping idea, but when has such logic ever stopped me before? Mainers aren’t known for being innovative thinkers. Let’s be honest. They’re known for being folksy, which isn’t the same thing. I may end up having the first chamomile lawn in town, but once people see it’s tiny-flowered beauty, it’s low-maintenance loveliness, chamomile lawns will crop up all over the place. Or not. What do I care about public opinion? It’s a landscaping idea whose time has come.
I spread a packet of chamomile seeds on the bare dirt where I couldn’t get grass to grow earlier this season. I watered it, a couple rain showers helped, and lo and behold tiny sprouts of chamomile are appearing, now. Days are still sunny in August. Nights are wet; mornings, dewey and cold. The seasonal change is felt only early and late, like that. Mid-day, you’d think it was still summer here in vacationland, USA. This weather is perfect. It’s suspenseful, like living in a novel. Even as you enjoy it, you know cool and refreshing will soon turn to cold with grouchy gray skies. Even as I revel in this glorious weather I fantasize about a road trip that’ll take me away from here with the first nor’easter.
The chamomile sprouts are still infants, though. There’s a chance they won’t make it. I’m out there every day, peering at the ground, whispering, Grow chamomile! Grow! My neighbors, with their green, grassy lawns–God knows what they think. Me with my tiny sprouts and my dirt patches and my refusal to use a sprinkler and just grow a lawn like a normal person. They talk about me. I hear snippets here and there, from one neighbor talking about another neighbor about how the other one was talking about me. Me and my chamomile lawn. One day, though, these sprouts will make an honest woman of me. They’ll see. One day. Grow, chamomile, Grow!