I've taken to wandering in the backyard as the farmer's of old, of The Mending Wall must have done. I step briefly into the alley behind our house, feigning an afternoons walk in the pleasant air, but what I'm really doing is looking at the fence line of my neighbors house, checking it for poison ivy or on the other side, for signs that we'll get a fuller commitment this year than the wild looking Tiger lilies that briefly dot their yard, appearing more as mirage of water in the desert than as actual ornaments.
Don't get confused, my yard is not pristine. It's currently growing seventeen types of weeds. We're running an experiment to see if grass can be entirely composed of things that are not grass while still carrying the moniker. But I care about my yard. I wish it well in the way that parents do children, or bankers investments. And I walk around in the alley checking to see if this is something that I share with my neighbors, a Thanksgiving of sorts, a shared love or at least interest in presenting a good face. And I must say that I am disappointed to find the poison ivy growing along the fence, worming it's way into their yards, and I don't know if I should warn them in a friendly conversation, or just surreptitiously spray the damn things into submission. If questioned, I can always tell them that all is well and that my wife works for the EPA. We'll leave groundwater quality to the next generation. My organic type idea is to plant honey suckle, a nasty and competitive invasive next to the poison ivy and let them battle it out, though I fear that I'd be the loser.
Content one afternoon I listen to my neighbor deliver a lecture to his sons as he mows the lawn and tries to tame the half-foot weeds that grow there. "You all want to have a cook out with all your friends," he tells the silent and tall teenage boys. "But you can't have a cook out with the yard looking this," he gestures expansively, though the point is partially lost now that he's mowed the majority of it. "And you expect me to do it. To mow the lawn for your cook outs." He walks away in disgust and the two boys awkwardly stand near the tool shed. I have things to aspire to.
Don't get confused, my yard is not pristine. It's currently growing seventeen types of weeds. We're running an experiment to see if grass can be entirely composed of things that are not grass while still carrying the moniker. But I care about my yard. I wish it well in the way that parents do children, or bankers investments. And I walk around in the alley checking to see if this is something that I share with my neighbors, a Thanksgiving of sorts, a shared love or at least interest in presenting a good face. And I must say that I am disappointed to find the poison ivy growing along the fence, worming it's way into their yards, and I don't know if I should warn them in a friendly conversation, or just surreptitiously spray the damn things into submission. If questioned, I can always tell them that all is well and that my wife works for the EPA. We'll leave groundwater quality to the next generation. My organic type idea is to plant honey suckle, a nasty and competitive invasive next to the poison ivy and let them battle it out, though I fear that I'd be the loser.
Content one afternoon I listen to my neighbor deliver a lecture to his sons as he mows the lawn and tries to tame the half-foot weeds that grow there. "You all want to have a cook out with all your friends," he tells the silent and tall teenage boys. "But you can't have a cook out with the yard looking this," he gestures expansively, though the point is partially lost now that he's mowed the majority of it. "And you expect me to do it. To mow the lawn for your cook outs." He walks away in disgust and the two boys awkwardly stand near the tool shed. I have things to aspire to.
that is why they are called "back" yards..
ReplyDeletenot to be seen, not to be maintained!!
teach lil s the love of grass and garden and that way by age 5 or 6 she can spend a day a week outside mowing,clipping,raking,etc