It’s out there as I write.
It is beckoning for me to go out to do something with it. hissing at me.
I will not let my lawn be the boss of me.
My lawn is small. It takes about fifteen minutes to cut it. I rarely edge it. My lawn is not a robust carpet of perfect green blades that come together to make a lush green carpet.
My lawn is diversified. That means it has weeds and crabgrass and has accepted bare dirt patches with which to co-exist. In the spring the dandelions come up. I don’t put posion down on my turf, so up they come, proud and yellow and with defiance. I go out reluctantly to pull most of them, but I rarely chase the root down and rip it out, so that means they come back. And so do I. I have heard you could use the leaves to make a salad, and I do see dandelion leaves bundled for sale in the small groceries I go to. Along with lamb hearts, but I have no lambs, though one could be useful in lawn maintenance.
It’s a little early to put fertilizer down. I could be putting Preen down around the few landscape plants to keep the weeds from sprouting up there, but I don’t. They will come too. It’s the cycle of life.
I remember and record album by Joni Mitchell that came out years ago, called, “The Hissing of Summer Lawns”. I never listened to it. I couldn’t. I was sick of grass by then. When I was younger I owned a landscaping and lawn maintenance business. I cut more lawns in a few years than most people did in a lifetime.
Grass sucks. More precisely, lawns suck.
Grass, as in prairie grass, is nature’s coat.
The stuff we fuss over is man’s idea of natural.
Man has it wrong.
I don’t care about my lawn.
It’s not the worse on the block but it’s far from the best. I have come a long way down since the days when I made other people’s lawns look perfect.
My lawn will wait.