I’m a gardening editor and I’m waving goodbye to my lawn – Here’s why and what we're doing instead

I write about gardens for a living. My husband is a professional gardener. You’d be forgiven for thinking we have a neat, striped, barefoot-friendly lawn; unfortunately, it’s actually something of a busman’s holiday out there, which is why we’ve finally decided enough is enough.

Yes, I confess that our lawn has always been… aspirational at best. A patch of ground that, every year, we try to coax into something resembling a proper garden feature using the very best lawn care tips, only for it to quietly revert to what it clearly wants to be: the same Swamp of Sadness that swallowed poor Artax in The Neverending Story.

We live on clay-heavy soil, which means the water lingers. Add to that a rescue mongrel who is mostly greyhound – all speed, legs, and chaotic energy – and his favourite activity is sprinting, at full tilt, from the back door to the far end of the garden and back again. Over the winter, without fail, he carves out the same route over and over until the grass simply gives up, no matter what lawn care calendar we subject it to. And there’s only so much overseeding we can afford.

Bye bye lawn, hello borders!

For years, the goal has been to “sort out the lawn”. Reseed it, repair it, and try again, as if persistence alone might eventually override soil type, weather patterns, and one very enthusiastic dog.

It makes sense, then, that my husband (who has worked on more than a few RHS show gardens, so I trust him implicitly) has had enough of trying to fix something that clearly doesn’t want to be fixed. His controversial solution? Expand the garden borders and get rid of most of the lawn.

Yes, instead of forcing grass to grow where it doesn’t want to, we’re expanding the beds, reshaping the space, and carving out a winding path that leads you through the garden rather than leaving you standing at the edge of it.

Part of this is, admittedly, tactical; we hope it might slow the dog down, or at least interrupt his usual racetrack. But it also marks a shift in how we think the garden should work.

We’ve already started planning the planting, which is where things get interesting. The garden is split into two very distinct personalities – one side is deep shade for most of the day, while the other sits in full sun all summer, unapologetically so.

Since we talked about this plan, the sunny side has, somewhat unexpectedly, become a vegetable patch. My husband has filled it with peas, raspberries, blackberries, strawberries, broad beans, and lettuces (mostly when I wasn't paying attention), and we now have the kind of space you can wander through and pick things from, rather than just look at.

The rest of the garden? Well, that's where we’re planning on leaning fully into something softer, wilder, and far more wildlife-friendly.

Our dream planting scheme:

We’re talking pollinator plants, layered borders, and interest that carries through all four seasons rather than peaking briefly in summer and disappearing again. Dogwoods for winter colour, star jasmine for scent and structure, an ivy-covered tree stump we're leaving well alone (the toads seem to love it), and plants that flower at different times, overlap, and create that slightly overgrown, slightly magical feeling that I keep coming back to.

If I’m honest, what I want is something that feels a bit like The Secret Garden – not the neglected version, but the moment it comes back to life. The kind that looks suitably whimsical, but also supports pollinators, birds, and whatever else decides to move in once we stop trying to keep everything so controlled.

It won’t happen overnight, and we’re under no illusion about that (we have a one-year-old and a four-year-old, as well as the aforementioned dog that thinks he's Usain Bolt; our lives are chaotic and busy). There will be trial and error, plants that don’t quite work, patches that need rethinking... and we're trying to do it without spending a fortune, too. Easier said than done, as anyone who has ever walked through a garden centre will agree.

FAQs

For the first time in a long time, I’m not dreading what the garden will look like by the end of winter. Because if expanding our borders into the lawn works – if we get even halfway there – we won’t just have solved the mud problem. We’ll have created something that feels alive.

And if it doesn't? Hey, anything has to be a better use of the space than a lawn that never really stood a chance.