A Cup of Conversation – August 2015

Truth be known, I suffer from lawn envy. Dad had it in spades as does my brother. The neighbor’s greener, thicker, well-manicured grass drives us crazy. If there is a deeper-seated reason for this petty neurosis, I’d rather not know. At least I’m talking about it which is the first step to getting help.

We were little when the old man got us started in the yard. By puberty, we could trim, hedge, cut, cultivate, prune, fertilize, dig, hoe and mow. My older brother was a demolitions expert in gopher control and never had to be told to light a fuse. The ugly little lawn trolls didn’t stand a chance against the clever kid who designed lizard guillotines for fun. I wasn’t allowed to handle the powerful 1/8th-sticks of dynamite complete with water-proof fuses. Was he really thinking I wouldn’t find the cache of kid-sized nukes stashed in an old paper bag deep in the treasure caves of grandfather’s garage? Big brother was too preoccupied with teenage girls to notice the old paper bag growing lighter by the week.

Weekends were about work first and everything else second. An afternoon during the week was set aside for special chores like weeding the steep foothills of the Sierra Nevada of a backyard we called home. The massive slopes of ice-plant were the absolute worst and usually reserved for punitive measures which were legitimately required from time to time. Rebuilding the wells around the eighty-six trees lining the perimeter of the Sierra Nevada was almost as bad. I knew each tree, intimately. I might have named them all but for the bitterness of hard, uncompensated adolescent labor stealing my joy.

Weekends, however, big brother and I worked like yard ninjas. We were quick and disciplined, never shirking our respective roles or begrudging the other over divisions of labor. Teamwork was essential to finish the tasks on time if we were to make the epic smash-face tackle football games scheduled against the boys in the neighborhood next to ours. Being recalled for shoddy work was sure to end in extra work. My brother was a quick learner. It took me a little longer. It still takes me a little longer.

You might be wondering why I’m writing about yardwork beyond just waxing nostalgic. I’m glad you asked because the other day I found myself admiring the good health of my neighbor’s lawn while standing in the middle of my own neo-green universe when small, weed-like stalks caught my attention. I know a few things about weeds but these were new to me. Digging deep to find the root, my fingers locked onto a thick fleshy cable growing laterally, inches beneath the sod. It took both hands and a strong back to unearth the giant weed root networked throughout the entire lawn. After ripping out the first ten-foot tentacle of cable root, the turf looked like it had been carpet-bombed. I stood there agape at the carnage the stealthy parasite reaped leaching nutrients from the sod to feed its own agenda. This kind of weed doesn’t show its real face until the damage is done. Hmm…and the silent invasion was happening for years just inches beneath my feet! The pungent whiff of spiritual irony hit me like a heavy bag of organic fertilizer. I need to spend more time on my knees, looking closer at what’s right in front of me. It’s that hard learner thing again.

Be good not bitter.