Mourning the wildflowers

In the middle of my neighborhood is a little bit of wild--a small ravine filled with cottonwood trees, mulberry bushes, thistles and other wonderful things most often found in more rural areas or the unmown sections of woodsy park settings.

This little bit of wild is only a street's width away from my house. I like to admire it as I walk with the dogs or the kids (or the dogs and the kids) on the way to the playground. The ground between the sidewalk and the ravine floor slopes at a steep angle for about a block before widening out to a more open space nearer to the playground.

That bit of sloping ground is my favorite part, and here is why:

This small field filled with clover and goldenrod is a haven for bees and birds and butterflies. It is too steep to walk along, so it is safe from tramping feet. And I thought it was also safe from the lawn mower.

I was wrong.

When I got back from Minnesota I witnessed a horrendous sight. Someone had hacked it all down! Nothing left of the lovely little field of wildflowers except for a few stubborn clovers rising defiantly above their mangled neighbors.

I'm sure it will grow back. But why did they mow it in the first place? And when will they do it again? Is it too much to hope for never?