Strangers talk to me in the garden:

on the social utility of a front yard garden

©2025 by Patrick Burgess

One particularly hot day in August, a grizzly looking man with a cigarette dangling from his mouth was walking along the sidewalk beside our house. I was working away in the garden, and he stopped to talk with me. To my delight, he started sharing fond memories of fresh garden tomatoes and his favourite varieties. He proceeded to ask about the details of my garden - a subject which I am always happy to entertain. Several other examples come to mind: children stopping their parents to admire the wildflower border, an elderly woman who shared the history of the maple tree behind our house, or the neighbours who nominated our garden for a Trillium Award. Had I instead been a posted guard of the all-American lawn, I likely would not have gotten more than a polite nod from these folks.
Our house is on a corner lot in a historically lower-middle income neighborhood. Since the backyard is largely covered by concrete, I was forced into the front and side yards when I started my garden. Over the course of a few years, I chipped away until there was virtually no lawn left.
Half of the former lawn is dedicated to the local ecology. A prairie mix of native tall grasses, annuals, and perennials has been established here. This area also contains a large “bee hotel”, and various bird houses. The concentration of life here is staggering. Throughout the season, the garden is alight with a dazzling variety of creatures. One may awaken to see a cottontail munching in a patch of clover, cats chasing after butterflies by the catnip, myriad bees, wasps, beetles, and flies buzzing about the flowers, or the tangle of a spider’s web catching the early morning light. Here, though on a tiny scale, nature puts on her most spectacular show.
The other half is dedicated to producing food and medicinal plants for our home. Here I grow a collection of annual and perennial herbs, leafy greens, tomatoes, corn, beans, squash, you name it. There is also a fruit patch that bears raspberries, blackberries, currants, grapes, and pears. This small area provides us with surprising abundance: in keeping with the theme, we often have more than we need and can share excess with neighbors or the local food bank.
To many, one’s garden is a personal space. Gardens are cordoned off to the back of the property with a fence as tall as can be reasonably achieved. While there is certainly merit in this approach, I have become convinced that we are losing something valuable here. By facing outwards, our gardens can involve us with the fabric of the community in a dynamic way. My hope is that more people will explore alternatives to their conventional lawns. We are missing a golden opportunity to increase sustainable food production, bolster local ecology, improve neighborhood aesthetics, and strengthen relationships with our neighbours.