Today, I wanted to take some time to talk about grass - a manly pursuit, in the manliest place I know: The Man Cave. I figure I hand around enough in the Discord, it was time to make some content! Specifically, my relationship with grass will be the intention! No – I’m not talking about weed, I’m talking about the small patch of Earth I call my own.
Let me begin though, by reflecting on when I was younger – I was more of an inside-kid, and Dad would be the one to dutifully maintain the yard. It was something that he always seemed to take great joy in and he’d come inside dirty and covered in grass clippings. I used to look at him and shake my little head: why spend time every weekend mowing the lawns, when they’ll only need another haircut a week later. I instead focused my energy on Nintendo64 – what was Mario up to, and how quickly I could get my little kart around a digital track. I had an intention: one day, I would own a house which was flanked by synthetic grass. Afterall, with developments in Astro-turf, it was looking increasingly ‘real’ year on year.
When I was in my early 20s, having lived in townhouses and units without grass – I did the almost unbelievable, buying my first home – with a lawn which meandered around a sloping block, which garden beds winding their way through the property. And, would you believe it – I started seeing grass differently. No longer was it a burden, but a celebration of being a man. For the first time in my life, I had a lawn-mower and a whipper snipper, and a dedication to visit the hardware store on a biweekly basis to buy garden maintenance tools, and garden gloves – and over time, I had an impressive collection of odds and ends –
Yet, while my fruit trees were producing an abundance of apricots, and my irises were flowering all over the place – it was my grass which gave me the most pride. I was out there on my hands and knees plucking out the smallest of weeds. I was pouring all sorts of mixes of fertilisers and poisons into the ground to deliver a lush ground cover which would be the envy of the street! I even had a picnic or two in a circular patch of grass at the bottom of the yard – which was sheltered by branches of an oak and ornament pears and plums.
It occurred to me, that I had become a grass person – but, having lived in the same house for a number of years, I had met my wife and we’d made the choice to move many hours to a coastal town. We rented a townhouse with a very small strip of grass, and all of a sudden, my weekends felt empty – I couldn’t quite figure out what was going on. And then it clicked – the need to do the lawns.
Twelve months later we bought a little house on a ¼ of an acre. The grass had been neglected at that property for years and years, but soon I got to work on it. I even found a new nemesis: onion weed – it’s impossible to kill off, and it’s bulbs under the soil multiply with vengeance. My strategy was to choke it out with a lawn that was robust! – and over time, with significant love and dedication, we had an extensive yard which was described in the real estate brochures as ‘parklands’ – with trees dotted throughout, creating an inviting canopy.
The move from that home took us again closer to the coast, and a new lawn. This time, the grass had been recently installed, and it was one of those fancy names, Sir Walter Buffalo lawn. It’s thick and lush – and needs regular mowing. It’s a dark green, and I’ve again dedicated a lot of time to it. Twice though, it has come under attack from Army Grub – a hungry little fellow which eats the roots of the grass, turning a lush lawn into a brown paradise-lost in the space of days. Twice now, I’ve taken to the war – both times victorious! And, with follow up pesticides and a prevention routine (alongside rainfall which is well above average this year) I have again in my possession, the perfect lawn.
Well, nearly perfect, my neighbour, Laurie, is a particularly dedicated lawn lover. He puts me to shame, mowing his lawn every week (even when it doesn’t need it) to maintain the perfect height. He’s obsessive, but gee he has a good cover all around his place.
But it does lead me to wonder, why is it, that we have such a need for a lawn? And why is it that we feel incomplete without one? Perhaps it goes to the great dream of owning a suburban paradise, a plot of earth, to call your own – and, the opportunity to stamp your ownership on it – bending it to our intention – a showpiece amongst all others.
You got me, I thought you were writing about weed. A man is the Lord of his castle, the lawn being right in front if well-kept should be his pride. I must admit that in my garden, I plant carpet grass so that I do not have to trim it too often. Laziness takes over pride, I guess.
We had a neighbour, this was years ago, who was an older gent - and he had this theory, 'I don't have to mow the lawns, I've got no one to impress'. - Excusing the element of sadness to the tale, the sentiment about impressing others with your lawn holds true, eh?
I used to do his front lawns just to keep up the street appeal - not sure he ever noticed to be honest.
Anyways, have a good one.
nice read