A Big Pain in the Grass

Spring has finally arrived in my neck o' the woods. The calendar may say spring started over a month ago, but I doubt that mother nature received that text message. Besides, the start of spring isn't dictated by a date; it is dictated by the temperature. Just ask anyone in the capri pants or tank top industries and they'll tell you that spring doesn't officially start until you have five consecutive days of amicably warm weather. In Ohio that didn't happen until last week, so spring it is.

With spring finally here, it is time to once again face my arch nemesis: the lawn. Every spring rekindles this ongoing struggle that pits man and machine against an uncooperative lawn. Mine is a fickle monster; in some areas it grows normally, some areas grow freakishly tall due to my dual automated fertilizer dispensing units (i.e. my dogs), and some areas simply refuse to grow. For the dead spots I've tried a number of tricks (reseeding, fertilizing, animal sacrifice, etc.), but have had no luck in getting anything besides clover and a few small weeds to grow.

While I've failed miserably at getting grass to grow where it should, I have proven myself fully capable at getting grass to grow where it shouldn't. The lushest patch of grass on my property grows in the most peculiar place, over the sidewalk. So when my neighbor brags about how nice and even his lawn looks, I fire back, "yeah, but can you make grass grow on concrete? I can." Shuts him up everytime.

My aversion to lawncare isn't helped by the fact that I am surrounded by people who actually seem to enjoy the process of tending their lawns. I see them out there sometimes two or three times a week with their mowers, happily trimming their grass. Upon completion of the mowing they water their lawn, making it to grow more. Isn't that sending the lawn a mixed message? I'm beginning to think these people are closet sadists whose pleasure comes not from mowing but from the thought of chopping the heads off of millions of tiny blades of grass.

Not me. On my personal enjoyment scale, lawncare falls somewhere between getting a prostate exam and getting a prostate exam from an angry gorilla with fingers the size of a toddler's forearm. Oh yes, my hatred runs deep. At least the prostate exam only amounts to a brief moment of discomfort. Lawncare on the other hand, is a slow, tedious, unrewarding process that I am forced to repeatedly undertake during the spring and summer months because long ago someone decided that the grass surrounding a person's home should "nary be higher than a Cossack's bootcrease" or three inches, depending on your unit of measure.

When I factor in the dirt bare patches, the thatched well fertilized areas in my back yard, and subtract the two foot tall thistle stalks that technically aren't grass, the average height of my lawn is about three inches. At least that's the response I give when my wife asks when I plan on cutting the grass. In spite of this iron clad indisputable logic, even I can no longer ignore the thicket that grows just outside my window. I can avoid my duty no longer; the time has finally come for me to do what is required to remain in good standing with my neighbors.

So I hired a 9 year old kid who lives a couple blocks over to cut it for me. He does a great job. In fact, it looks much better than the hackjob I normally do since I am more focused on finishing than actually doing a good job. So now my lawn is tended in a manner that pleases both my wife and my neighbors, and I'm pleased because I'm not the one who has to do it anymore. Everyone is happy.

I realize some people might take offense to me hiring a kid to cut my grass when I am fully capable of doing it myself. Having someone else cut your grass is a practice normally reserved for the elderly, infirm, extremely busy, or extremely rich. I am none of those; I just simply hate to do it. So is it wrong of me to hire a 9 year old kid to cut my lawn while I sit in the house playing video games?

Not from my perspective.