I HATE Grass

I have to move to an apartment in downtown Raleigh.  I cannot live through another growing season.

When we moved into this house, the lawn was lush… fertile fescue for days.  Walking through the yard was like walking on a Persian rug; like Rapunzel’s hair between your toes.

Not today.  Now it is like walking through an emptied bag of tortilla chips.

Back in the day I looked forward to the fall.  I’d rent an aerator.  It weighed 8,000 pounds.  My neighbor and I would unload it in the driveway.  I’d turn it on, and it would drag my 175 pound self in circles, little dirt clogs galore.

In 2017, I pay to have it done.  A group of men three times my size show up and within 20 minutes, the job is complete.  All I have to do is water.

Sounds easy, huh?

I do not have a sprinkler system.  I have hoses in the backyard and hoses in the front yard.  Everywhere a new hose connects, the water spews out like Aphrodite’s fountain.  I have a rather large yard.  It takes four shifts of each sprinkler to wet the full quarter acre.  Within a week, my yard is a mud hole.

I had to buy slip on Sketchers to keep from ruining my tennis shoes.  Sketchers?  Seriously?  My MOM wears Sketchers.  “Well, I just found this cute little pair of slip on Sketchers at the Rack Room.  They are sooo comfortable.”

You know it is bad when you and your mother are wearing the same kind of shoes.

I turn the sprinklers on, one in front and one in back, come inside and set the stove timer for 45 minutes.  I then head out to reposition the hoses.  Because I WORK, most of my sprinkling is at night.  Darkness just adds to the mystique.

Invariably, I get soaked.  I suppose I could turn them off before I move them, but that seems like an awful lot of work.  Instead, I get in a starting track pose, watch the sprinkler head rhythm (holding my iPhone in my mouth for light), count to three, and run toward the head.   It’s like sneaking up on a king cobra.  With the water leaking from all orifices, I never win!

Yesterday I shoved the plastic gadget in the ground and watched long enough to make sure the water was headed in the right direction.  When I returned 45 minutes later, the sprinkler had fallen over.  Water was shooting straight in the air and most of the seed that was intended to get wet was dry as a bone.  I cursed the Home Depot and started that round again.

They say you should water in the early morning.  That would mean I’d have to wake up at 5:00 AM to ensure the job gets done.  I could take soap and save on shower time.

And one more thing… how is it that on Monday the sprinkler sprinkles in long straight spurts and on Tuesday, the same dag gone head is spewing in vast short circles.  It’s like Danny DeVito and Lurch.  I don’t understand.  It should be consistent.  No one touches it in the off days.  At least I don’t think they do… hmmm.

This is dangerous work.  I have fallen due to slick conditions, been attacked by an enormous bush that someone should have trimmed, and been shot in the eyeball with a stream of dirty water.  Thus, this time next year, I’m headed to the concrete jungle.  Downtown Raleigh, here I come!

The Weed Man Comes

MY backyard grass - it's all like that.

Side yard - it ain't easy being green!

Front yard - don't ya' just want to lie in it naked?

Posted by Danny

My grass looks FANTASTIC.  And when my grass looks FANTASTIC, I feel like the King.  My neighbors must be green with envy!

Every morning when I take the kids to school, I encourage them to look at the lush lawn before them.  As we drive through the winding neighborhoods that dot our trip to their higher education, I point out all of the yards that don’t look as good as mine.

“Look over there girls, C R A B G R A S S…”

See those brown spots???”

“I bet they have sanspurs…”

After mowing on Sunday, I ran down to the basement to ask Jesse if he’d noticed my terrific turf.  Not looking up from his computer, he grunted. 

Jealousy does not become him.

And to top it off, my azaleas look like The Masters.

My yard, not The Masters!

I have to admit, I don’t do it all myself.  My secret?  The Weed Man comes and fertilizes every other month.  Yep, I contract it out.

I sort of feel like I’ve had yard plastic surgery.  Once my father-in-law harassed me for having a lawn company take care of my weeds.  “Don’t waste your money like that – a real man takes care of his own weeds.”  Guess who also hired a weed guy?

I was with True Green for a while.  They should be named False Brown.  I don’t know what they put on my yard – I think it may have been rice.  Whatever it was, my weeds were more healthy than Jack Lalanne – well, before he died.

I aerated my yard two years ago on my own.  The aerator is shaped like a lawn mower but weighs six tons. 

You press a gear on the handle and the damn things starts darting through your grass like a tractor-trailer – poking holes in the ground as it goes.  There’s no pushing an aerator – it’s sort of like being tied to an angry bull.

I felt like a cartoon character – hand griping the handle, feet dragging along behind, body in full slant toward the ground.

And after all of that work, and all of the money to buy the seed, I had nothing but dirt by late March. 

But not anymore!  The Weed Man cometh and The Weed Man taketh away (the weeds that is!)

Lawn of the month, here I come!

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