The only real benefit I ever get from working on my lawn is having a nicer yard to continue working in.

I trim trees to comfortably pass underneath with my riding mower, then mow the lawn so it will be easier to see where to weed whack, which is essential to do before giving the house a good power washing, which I can also only do once the bushes have been trimmed back to their desired size. Each chore springs from another like a Russian nesting doll of responsibility transferring more and more of each week’s paycheck straight to Lowe’s.

We rarely even hang out in the yard, unless we’re entertaining. When that happens, I spend most of my time apologizing for the lawn’s condition explaining that it is a bad year for dandelions, or how the lack of rain is affecting the color. This is absurd because I’ve never once noted the condition of someone else’s lawn when going for a visit and have no idea how much rain we’re supposed get.

If Jenny and I are home and happen to venture outside without any visitors around, I’m normally fidgeting with the fire pit or Jenny’s laying in her hammock – both of which are on our deck. We don’t even grill in the yard, instead preferring the slightly more-level ground of the driveway, which also has the benefit of being significantly less flammable in the fall.

We’ve spoken often about the possibility of investing in lawn furniture, but it seems like such an audacious thing to undertake – to attempt to tame a sliver of nature for our own use. We own a porch swing on an A-frame that her father made and every time I pass it, I worry that it’s digging up the lawn.

My most common yard-related leisure activity is walking around looking at tree limbs saying, “Hmm, I don’t like that,” as if the trees growth pattern might adjust itself to gain my approval.

Truthfully, the biggest value I get from maintaining my yard is a reduced likelihood of surprising a skunk when I roll the trash cans to the curb on Sunday night. And then there is the ego boost of beating my neighbor to the cut when both are overgrown and making them lazy by comparison.

Society promotes yard ownership as providing a great place to relax and enjoy some downtime, but when I have an extended period of free time I go on vacation taking me as far away from my house as possible. It’s like cleaning your gun all day then going fishing instead.

Lawns are a self-imposed burden that attaches to your ego and changes with the seasons. But they also provides moments of unexpected joy.

I got absurdly excited this week when the hydrangeas we planted last season showed their first blooms – just not excited enough to pluck all of the weeds surrounding it.

Probably the most fun ever had in my yard was at my father’s seventieth birthday party when he brought a Slip ‘N Slide for my nieces and nephews. This raised a lot of eyebrows among my brothers and me because Dad refused to buy us a Slip ‘N Slide when we were kids.

Instead, we got the Wet Banana, which was like a Slip ‘N Slide, but with a hard plastic seam perfectly located for the best chance of drawing blood.

It also made me extremely nervous because our house is run on a well and I have no idea how wells work except for the fact that they eventually run out of water.

The only thing I know for sure about wells is that a realtor doesn’t laugh after you respond to her observation that one is old by saying, “that explains the barking collie.”

I used to worry about getting too absorbed by yard chores, but that has gone away once I realized that you cannot fully plan how to handle the responsibility of a yard.

You may think you’ll focus the spring on one thing – then, suddenly, your trees get destroyed in a winter storm and the next thing you know you own a chainsaw, a pole saw, two different types of bar and chain lubricant, and a wood splitting hatchet only to look out and see the border hedges slowly creeping in to claim neglected space.

The hardcore yard enthusiast protects their borders with fencing, walls, or edging. Seeing an edger in another man’s garage is the middle-aged equivalent to seeing a bong in your college buddy’s dorm room – you know he’s got more than just a recreational habit and that the story probably won’t end all that well in a few years.

My focus with the yard has never been to keep it perfect. Just to keep it presentable and usable enough to spot a bocce ball from twenty feet away. I might not always get there, so instead I made a rule that the host always gets to choose their color first and I’ve never chosen green.

 

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