The Rewilding of the Lawn

You are getting on with age, and with that comes a boiling desire to shout “not on my lawn!” at every passing kid with a ball or dog with bad intentions. You are not alone. The same goes for the sudden urge to spy on roadworks and the instinctive need to thank working women with a casual “thanks, love.” I am guilty of all three — and I’m only thirty-three.

But on lawns everywhere — yours and mine included — worse things are going on. Or perhaps better: too much mowing, too much tidiness, too much control.

According to the Australian Conservation Foundation, around 25% of Australia’s threatened plants and 46% of threatened animals can still be found in cities and towns. Yet habitat destruction caused by urban sprawl is accelerating the extinction crisis.

Despite plants and wildlife filling tourist brochures and decorating the pages of our passports, Australia ranks second worldwide for biodiversity loss. Koalas dominate the conversation, but countless lesser-known species are disappearing quietly in the background.

Globally, the picture is no brighter. It is projected that there will be staggering biodiversity losses as cities continue to expand. We are talking about species-level extinctions in both animals and plants.

While we wait for governments and industries to make meaningful changes to urban development, agriculture, and pollution, we also need to consider what we can do ourselves. Buying “Save the Bees” stickers is all good fun, but we can directly help preserve habitats for insects and small animals in our own yards, balconies, and streets.

We may not save every bee, but perhaps we can save the ones buzzing around our homes. [One bee saved is better than no bee at all. Unless it’s Ben from Bee Movie. I can’t stand that guy.]

And beyond bees and koalas, there is also a selfish reason to care. Biodiversity — from tiny insects to humble shrubs — gives us clean air, fertile soil, food, fresh water, and functioning ecosystems. The natural world isn’t ornamental. It effing keeps us alive.

May

I have not mowed the lawn at my new place since we moved in a few months ago.

To be fair, there isn’t much grass inside the property itself, but I should be mowing the small strip out front on the sidewalk. The problem is not merely that lawns exist. It is that they dominate.

If I ever needed another excuse to procrastinate on household chores, I found one in mid-May last year when I read Tim Smedley’s article The Benefits of Letting Your Lawn Go Wild. In it, he described participating in No Mow May.

The initiative began in the UK through the conservation charity Plantlife. The campaign encourages people to stop mowing during May so grass and wildflowers can grow freely, creating food and habitat for pollinators like bees, butterflies, and moths during a critical season.

It is especially useful in the Northern Hemisphere, where May opens the door to summer. But really, it should only be the beginning.

If you have a lawn, leaving the mower in the shed for most of the summer would do far more for wildlife than a single month of restraint. And you do not have to abandon the whole yard. You can mow paths through longer grass, keep small leisure areas trimmed, or maintain a tidy border around wilder sections.

Even aesthetically, wild lawns can look surprisingly beautiful.

“There are three main issues with lawns,” says the creator of Lawn To Be Wild. “They are constantly cut, they’re a monoculture, and they’re bloody everywhere.”

That line stuck with me.

Lawns are short, uniform, and repetitive: green carpets stretched endlessly across suburbs in Australia, the United States, the UK, and most former colonies that inherited the old aristocratic fantasy of the perfectly curated estate.

Individually, a lawn is harmless enough. But when nearly every homeowner chooses the same trimmed monoculture, biodiversity suffers.

And lawns are not even easy to maintain.

They require constant mowing, watering during dry spells, fertilising to stay green, and often chemical treatments to combat weeds and pests. Many lawn grasses are not native to the places they grow in, meaning they struggle without continuous human intervention.

In the end, they are a high-maintenance status symbol disguised as nature.

We have moved past the Brazilian wax. It may be time to move past the lawn as well.

Going Native

One of the best ways to support wildlife is by planting native species.

Native plants evolved alongside native animals and insects, often forming deep interdependent relationships. The monarch butterfly, for example, relies entirely on milkweed as a food source for its caterpillars.

Sometimes, the first step toward restoring biodiversity is incredibly simple: stop mowing part of the lawn.

Leave a corner untouched long enough, and life begins to return. Bees appear first. Then butterflies. Birds. Small reptiles. Maybe even mammals, depending on where you live. Your neighbour may side-eye your shaggy patch from across the fence, but eventually they might envy it too.

Their grass may be greener, but yours could contain an entire rainbow.

Plantlife encourages people to “leave the untidy corners and wild areas,” allowing leaf litter, dead stems, and long grass to shelter insects and reptiles through colder months. Campaigns like Leave the Leaves, Let It Bloom June, and Knees-High July all push against our obsession with tidiness.

And honestly, for me, this is not only about wildlife.

I simply think a little chaos is beautiful.

A wild garden feels alive in a way manicured grass rarely does. Lawns are wonderful for picnic areas and footy ovals, but everywhere else I find myself craving something denser, messier, and more sublime.

Native gardens also tend to require less effort once established. Plants adapted to local conditions need less water, less fertiliser, and less maintenance overall.

Yet many Australians still imagine native gardens as dull and monochrome. I disagree entirely. The colours hidden in native grasses, flowering shrubs, banksias, and gums can be mesmerising.

On My Lawn?

As environmental news grows increasingly bleak, we need stories of ecological restoration that remind us recovery is still possible.

Across Australia, habitat restoration projects have transformed damaged landscapes into thriving ecosystems. Melbourne’s Merri Creek, once heavily polluted and overtaken by invasive weeds, now supports native vegetation, birdlife, and even platypuses thanks to decades of community effort.

Elsewhere, in Bendigo, habitat restoration has helped revive native fish species once thought locally extinct. In Queensland’s Wet Tropics, Traditional Owners and scientists are working together to restore ecosystems using both ecological science and Indigenous knowledge systems.

These projects remind us that restoration is rarely quick or glamorous. It takes patience, community, and persistence.

But what about individual efforts?

What about mine?

Well, I have started small.

I am letting the grass grow tall on the nature strips out front — No Mow May style. I removed the lawn from the two small patches in my front yard and began planting mostly native species instead.

I move slowly, but recently I finished planting the borders near my entrance with kangaroo paws, silver bush, banksias, and native grasses.

The road is still long, but it seems worth taking. I can already tell the bin chickens enjoy foraging through the wild patch out front. And honestly, that feels like a decent start.