NOTED Frank Harmon watches his garden fill with plantings—and memories
Illustration by Judy Harmon, courtsey Frank Harmon
Home Grown
E
very spring a lawn care company tosses a flyer over my garden gate. They promise to make my lawn perfect by using herbicides and pesticides. But I think I’ll keep the lawn just as it is, with scatterings of chickweed, withered starflower stems, and the occasional snake skin. I live in a small pink stucco house near N.C. State University. My wife Judy and I designed the house and garden in 1989. We broke ground on Valentine’s Day and moved in a year later. Then we planted the lawn. We’d put down roots. When we lived in England at one time, we fell in love with English gardens and English country houses. We also loved English lawns. Who wouldn’t? They were a tightly stretched blanket of grass as smooth as green velvet. I loved the stillness they brought to a busy landscape.
74 | WALTER
