Yard Work: A Survivor’s Tale

They say that ever man has his nemesis.  For my father, that nemesis was the lawn.  Every Saturday morning they engaged one another in a pitched battle the likes of which hasn’t been seen since Gilgamesh squared off against Enkidu.  Trust me, it was epic….Sisyphean even.  On a certain level, I think my father enjoyed the challenge while another part of him found it meditative.  Me?  I do not share this same fixation for my front lawn; far from actually.

In fact, I think it’s safe to say I hate my lawn and my lawn hates me.

I realized this just yesterday as I was taking care of my own front and back yards in anticipation of a backyard summer end BBQ this weekend.  However, in its current condition I wasn’t so much ‘cutting the lawn’ as I was ‘weeding out the remaining bits of grass from my weed garden’.

Sadly, it’s true.

I’ve never been one to attempt to keep up with the Joneses.  As a result, our lawn is the abomination of the neighborhood. Where everyone else on the street is feeding, trimming, weeding, watering and otherwise tending to a lush green carpet of freshly manicured sod that rolls outward from their front porch down to the roadway, I’m doing everything else but.

The way I see it, my whole approach to lawn care is more to the ‘au naturel’  style of things where my lawn is representative of the indigenous flora and fauna.  That is to say, I wear my weeds with pride.  And same goes for the golden rod, dandelions, hogsward, crab grass, thistles and prickly weeds of all sorts.  I consider myself to be the neighborhood arbitrarium.

Photo might not be 100% accurate.

The problem is that I’m very conflicted when it comes to lawn care.  First, I am completely loathe to introduce any unnatural chemicals or treatments in the ground soil, likewise, I hate the idea of needlessly wasting water when the Earth’s own ground water tables are being drastically depleted.  There are people who probably brave snakebites by walking barefoot 10 miles a day to and from the only well, hundreds of miles away, for the sole opportunity to sip a single cup of clean, fresh water and here I am hosing it over my lawn with reckless abandon.

That doesn’t sit well with me.

Secondly, I don’t particularly like the work either.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not afraid of work.  I will happily run for 3 hours in stupid ° weather, but spend 20 minutes on trimming the edges along the driveway?  Fuck that shit.  I hate cutting vines at the back of the shed that will only grow back at the blink of an eye, I hate getting lashed by sentient sticker-bushes, and I hate the awe-inspiring weeds taller than I am and the noxious stinging insects that chase you around the yard, especially when you start to sweat.  They’re like mini harpies sent by the Garden Gods to torment you in your labors.  I hate the limb-severing shrapnel you get from the weed wacker as well as my hands continuing to vibrate for 12 hours after I’ve finished operating the mower.

I also hate the constant reminders I get that I haven’t actually done any of this yard crap in the past two weeks.

You can practically set your clock to it.

Kelly: “Honey, you really need to cut the lawn.”

Me: “Hmm. It’s been two weeks Thursday already?”

God help me.

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1 Comment

  1. Kelly

     /  September 18, 2015

    Buck up Sissypants, next year you’ve already committed to having a pretty(ish) lawn !


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