“Did you water today?”
I stole a glance out the window. The sky was a little bit overcast.
It was
sort of misty that morning. The
sidewalks were wet when I went out for my daily walk, my hair damp when I
returned. There definitely hadn't been a
downpour, but not quite a shower either.
Eh. The ground appeared to be soft
and muddy.
Be casual. “I didn’t
have to. It rained today,” I blithely
replied, waving my hand. Too much? I inhaled slowly, holding my breath.
“Really.”
“Uh-huh.”
I paused, but barely. “What’d you
do today?” Good job. Total interest.
Twenty minutes of soaking a day for seven days,
then about every other day for 14 days after that. That was the prescription the lawn service
gave my husband when they reseeded the bare patches he made by tearing crabgrass out of our small front yard ten days ago. The prescription he passed on to me, the keeper of the
house and apparently now also the one responsible for the front lawn. Twenty-one days of watering. That’s three weeks of doing a chore that he
chose, one that I loathe. Wild animals probably
poop and pee on our lawn in the dark of night, a hopscotch square that the
neighbor kids cut through from their house to their friends’ houses every day. If we had a million dollars to burn, a good
portion of it would be buried in the yard, home to hundreds of bugs and
worms. I hope they enjoy it.
We live in a part of the world where it rains regularly
and grass grows naturally and sometimes there are dandelions. Yet we pay for the promise of perfect grass
and no dandelions, and we water that promise for twenty minutes a day for seven
days and then every other day for 14 days after that.
This isn’t even the first time we’ve done it.
I regarded the greenish 15-foot path that hints
at the lush lawn that we will see in the spring. One that I pray will take. This
time, please take.
Praying for green grass is not new for me. Specifically,
I pray for green that perfectly matches the current green, because if this
green isn’t the right shade of green, this project will begin yet again. I wonder if he is praying, or if he’s laying
the responsibility all on me just like the watering.
Perfect and glorious green grass, please
take. And take with it all the
conversations about grass and weeds and why does our yard look like this and
what are these brown spots and how can we get every blade to lie just so and
appear like carpet and be completely flawless every single day and I hate this
#&%! crabgrass and what did the lawn guys say when they came today and I don’t think they’re doing a very good job
with the fertilizer.
Meanwhile my eyes glaze over as I fantasize about cement trucks and front
yards full of mulch and river rock and how much is blacktop, again?
Please take, grass. Grow long and lush and banish the weeds and the conversations about the grass and the weeds. Grow unlike any grass has grown anywhere else. Make our front yard a destination on a
sightseeing tour exclusively for those who get jazzed about thick, green, perfect
grass.
PLEASE TAKE.
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Don't even get me started on the mailbox situation. |
*******
It will be GLORRRRRIOS!
ReplyDeletehttps://youtu.be/NPEYb_6lgmk
DeleteOMG
DeleteOH this is just so funny! I get it. I really do. When we moved into our house- it had been neglected and empty for TWO YEARS. Imagine the field of dandelions and patches of dirt to be had...
ReplyDeleteIt was a PROJECT of EPIC proportions. Our fifth year it's finally green grass. Patches upon patches of weeds hidden amidst the plush stuff- but we'll take it.
I think I could write a novel about grass. Weeds. Dandelions. Watering. And the cost of this infamous green you speak of.
PLEASE TAKE!
Thank you. You get it. You really, really get it. We had grass there, once. He killed it with overzealous fertilizing. He threw down seed. Killed it again. Crabgrass grew in the bare spots. It's still grass. IT'S STILL GRASS $$$$$$$$$$$
DeleteWe just cannot be persuaded to care too much about our grass, although I do sigh longingly when I see older pictures of the house, with it's lush, thick St Augustine. Thanks to kids and a trampoline and kids and droughts and kids and a little laziness, it's much less, um, lush. Someday we'll get it all fixed up.
ReplyDeleteIn our old house, there were shady, damp patches where nothing grew but moss, no matter what we did. (Let's not kid ourselves, no matter what HE did.) Now we discuss fertilizer and water rotations, and... (sorry, I fell asleep because I am boring myself.)
ReplyDeleteToo bad it isn't THAT kind of grass.
ReplyDeleteThe kind you could smoke if it didn't take.
Wink wink.
WHAT??