They're finally running up the white flag: Once Remembrance Day is done, the front lawn of the legislature will be closed to the public until further notice.

No kidding. After a week that included the royal visit, the Olympic torch relay and a stretch of storms torn straight from the pages of the Old Testament, the grounds have been walked on so hard they deserve their own country song.

The crowning moment, as it were, was Friday's royal appearance. With thousands of shoes making their ankle-deep mark ("Curtsey? No, I'm sinking") the lawn wasn't quite as muddy as Woodstock, but it was close. We kept waiting for Prince Charles to introduce Ten Years After, lead the "no rain" chant.

That left maintenance crews going at it with rakes yesterday morning, trying to give the grounds the horticultural equivalent of a comb-over. Couldn't tell if they were actually weeping or if it was just the rain running down their faces, but they did a good job nonetheless.

It is, in fact, not uncommon to have to close the lawn at this time of year. That's what comes from serving as the carpet in the provincial living room, the legislature being the backdrop to every significant celebration and demonstration in B.C.

The last month alone has see the torch relay, the royal visit, the Royal Victoria Marathon, an HST protest, an ancient-forest rally and a protest against cuts to arts funding. Earlier this year were events as diverse as a Morris dance festival, the AIDS walk, Drumming for the Earth, some puppetry, International Taoist Tai Chi Awareness Day, the Edmonton Cycling for Celiacs and the Bishop Grandin High School Marching Ghosts Band field show.

There are rules. The Speaker of the legislature may grant permission to use the grounds, but only for non-commercial events. No commercial advertising is allowed. (Guess I was imagining all those RBC and Coca-Cola people at the torch relay.) No sale of goods or services, nor solicitation of donations or memberships. No attaching signs or banners to buildings, trees or whatnot. No camping, sleeping, skateboarding, in-line skating or loose dogs. Wedding photos yes, wedding ceremonies no. No booze (though the rules don't mention crack).

The lawn saw more traffic than the Colwood Crawl during the early years of the Liberal government. Cutbacks drew 3,500 angry teachers one day in early 2002. ("You can tell who the primary-grade teachers are," observed Barb McClintock, then of the Vancouver Province. "Their signs are done with glitter paint.") They were followed by a few hundred social workers two days later, followed by 2,000 students two weeks after that.

After the students left, Camp Campbell remained: a couple of dozen tents, a sod hut and a small tribe of campers who broke lawn lovers' hearts by digging a vegetable garden (not so bad) and a latrine (OK, really bad) behind the statue of Queen Victoria. (She was not amused.) It took three weeks for the government to dislodge them, the cynics wondering if the Liberals weren't happy to leave the shrubs growing in the grass: Every time they started playing those damn bongo drums, Gordon Campbell's popularity jumped three points.

Don't see as many demonstrations these days, probably because they're only slightly more effective than a Facebook petition, which is to say not effective at all. Mr. Floatie aside (good thing he didn't fall in the latrine), few governments are moved to action by theatrics. It's hard to take someone seriously when he's dressed in a moose suit.

Political demos get the ink, but the lawn probably suffered its greatest damage during the Commonweath Games in 1994, when no watering was allowed for two or three weeks and tens of thousands of people trod the sod each day until it was tougher than Scottish cooking. Years later groundskeepers lamented the after-effects, saying there were still patches where aerators couldn't break through the thatch and water couldn't reach the roots.

Which brings us to the people left raking the lawn today.

Common decency says rally organizers should leave a little something for those left to clean up the mess -- say, a case of beer for every thousand people at your event. That should wipe away the tears.

jknox@tc.canwest.com