Little Girl in the Garden – Bringing the Natives Back Home
A wild-ish backyard story from Bundjalung Country
I’d like to start by acknowledging the Traditional Custodians of this land, the Bundjalung people. This garden grows on their Country — always was, always will be. I pay respect to their Elders past and present, and to their deep knowledge of this landscape, its rhythms, plants, and seasons. That knowledge is still here, in the soil and the trees, and in how we care for this place.
Big, empty lawns come from British colonial ideals, where wealthy landowners in England used open grass to show control, status, and "civilised" order. When colonists arrived in places like Australia, they brought this aesthetic with them, clearing native vegetation to create neat lawns as a sign of ownership and respectability. The front lawn became a kind of stage — not for growing food or connecting with land, but to display tidiness and dominance.
But these lawns often displaced thriving ecosystems and required constant upkeep — water, mowing, chemicals — for little ecological return. Now, many are questioning that legacy, turning lawns into native gardens, food patches or wilder, more meaningful spaces that support life and connection instead of just appearance.
The tradition of front gardens as open, mown lawns comes from British colonial landscaping ideals. In 18th and 19th century England, aristocrats showcased wealth by surrounding their homes with expansive, manicured lawns. These lawns were deliberately open — not for food, not for shelter, but as a visual display of order, leisure, and dominance over wild nature.
When the British colonised places like Australia, they brought this idea with them. In settler towns and suburbs, the front lawn became a symbol of civility and control — a way to show you were respectable, modern, and had “tamed” your patch of land. Open space also served a practical colonial function: it allowed surveillance of the street and a clear visual boundary between public and private realms.
But the downside? These lawns usually replaced diverse native ecosystems and traditional land practices. They take water, fertilizer, and mowing — and they don’t do much for habitat, cooling, or community connection.
Why Do People Have Empty Lawns?
Large, mown grassy lawns became popular during English colonial times as a symbol of wealth, control, and European identity. In England, only the very wealthy could afford to keep large areas of grass trimmed short, as it required paid labour or grazing animals. Lawns became associated with power, civility, and dominance over nature.
When the British colonised lands like Australia, they brought this landscape ideal with them. Clearing native vegetation to create open lawns was a way to "tame" and "civilise" the land — a visual expression of ownership and dominance, ignoring the fact that these lands were already cared for and shaped by Indigenous peoples for thousands of years.
In settler suburbs and farms, lawns became a marker of "success," privacy, and conformity to Western aesthetics. But they often displaced native ecosystems and required high water use, chemicals, and ongoing maintenance — all to uphold a European ideal that was never ecologically suited to the land.
Three years ago, we made a simple but transformative decision — to fill our garden with native plants. What started as a few humble tube stocks from the local nursery has grown into a thriving, ever-evolving sanctuary that brings us joy every single day. We’ve lost a few special species during rough weather, like Cyclone Alfred, but nature has filled the gaps in its own way.
Inspired by the Ballina Urban Garden Guide, the incredible biodiversity of the Northern Rivers, and my own work as an environmental consultant, we committed to planting species native to this region. Our garden is now home to grevilleas, lomandras, tea trees, wattles, callistemons, and coastal rosemary. We’ve planted paperbarks and gums, Davidson plums, native palms, egg-and-bacon peas, ferns, paper daisies, and even a striking giant candle banksia. There are grass trees anchoring corners of the yard like ancient sculptures. all of these native are called a different name in Bandjalung. Everything was chosen for its ability to thrive in our coastal climate and support local wildlife. Slowly, with mulch, care, and time, the garden took shape — wild, purposeful, and full of soul.
It’s not just a garden — it’s a living, breathing ecosystem. Rainbow lorikeets chatter through the grevilleas every morning. Blue-tongue lizards soak up the warmth. Native bees buzz among the trea tree blossoms. Rosellas rest in the upper canopy, and frogs croak in the undergrowth on rainy nights. The neighbours often stop to comment on how lovely it’s become — it really does change the feeling of the whole street.
But the best part is what it’s brought to my children. It’s their playground, their classroom, their wonderland. They collect seed pods, grow herbs, build fairy houses beneath the ferns, and learn the names of the creatures who’ve moved in. They see firsthand how everything connects — the trees, the insects, the birds, the soil. There’s joy, simplicity, and a quiet kind of learning that only comes from being in nature.
And truly, anyone can do this. Whether you have a sunny balcony, a nature trip a tiny patch of grass, or a full fromt our backyard — planting local native species can restore habitat, and reconnect you with this beautiful land we live on. The Ballina Urban Garden Guide is a wonderful place to start, full of plant ideas and design tips tailored to our region. Several of our friends have followed our lead, and even I’m surprised by the transformation in just two short years. It makes their homes feel more alive.
Every season brings new colour and energy — I still can’t get over how long the grevilleas flower. Every week we pick a bunch of fresh native blooms to bring inside. And there’s nothing better than seeing the garden grow, shift, and bloom alongside our family.
So if you’re thinking about planting or replanting, let your garden tell a local story. One that welcomes wildlife, sparks wonder, and gently returns something to this land we call home.
This is just on a small suburban block the options for hinterland living are multifold.
