Am I alone in thinking that the American obsession with grass is a little odd? Is there any other group of people out there that pours more time, energy and money into the raising of a product that they will then cut down, for no apparent return whatsoever? I spent a solid hour pondering this yesterday while I mowed my own patch of paradise, and I remain perplexed, as always, with the fascination for it.
I have neighbors who devote every waking moment to the pampering of their little patch of turf. They fence it off, they fertilize, they irrigate, they aerate and verticut and reseed, until the grass is a virtual monument to American chemistry and hard work. Is it really necessary, I find myself wondering, as I push my mower resentfully about the place? What is it that this green carpet I call my lawn is doing for me?
My lawn is not horrible, as lawns go. It is green, and mostly actual grass, with only a few weeds thrown in. In fact, the grass is, in places, too successful, as it has now fully invaded every bush bed I have, and is threatening to replace the very bushes the beds were intended to protect.
It doesn't surprise me that it invades the beds where it doesn't belong. It is, in nature, a weed, and as such, it will surely grow where it is not wanted.
Here is the fascinating thing about that grass, though. Why do you suppose it is, when I have an area in the middle of the lush lawn that is barren ground, nothing but weeds seem to take root? How is it that grass can climb high walls to invade a bed, can seemingly surmount almost any obstacle that man or nature can install, but cannot overcome an invisible line of demarcation in the soil from whence grass was originally taken?
I'll tell you, these are the things that plague me in the middle of mowing the lawn I didn't really want in the first place. And to which, I might add, I am highly allergic, making it even more ridiculous that I spend my time out there in the midst of it.
The very best part of owning a lawn in Kansas, however, comes in the middle of summer, when the only thing that is actually surviving in the heat are the chiggers that will make their way to the most uncomfortable areas of your body, to slowly drive you mad. Chiggers are surely the curse that we have to endure for living in Kansas, which is already punishment enough, if anyone wants my opinion.
Last summer, when I was suffering in chigger hell, I went to the store to get the only product known to humankind to be effective against the torturous itching. This product, known as Chigarid, comes in a (too) small bottle, and smells like mentholated nail polish. Which is probably what it, in fact, is.
I was gobsmacked to learn that the product had not only been recalled, but that no new product was expected to make it's appearance on store shelves until after chigger season had ended, if then. People in other parts of the country will not understand the distress, nay the panic and consternation, felt by those of us who do live in the part of the country where we suffer mightily every summer. But if you have once had a run-in with that invisible instrument of torture, you will sympathize.
I have checked this spring for Chigarid at the store, and am demoralized to learn that it still is not gracing the shelves. Rest assured, those who suffer, I have sent off a strongly worded e-mail letting the Colgin company know of our need for their product, and my distress at not finding it. I say we organize a mail-in, so that they are overwhelmed with the need to restart production of Chigarid. [Did I mention that it is the only cure for the itching known to humandkind? This is serious business people, and we need to get on it before the summer gets any older.]
But getting back to the curious tradition of grass, I wonder why we are so enamoured of the green stuff, and why we are willing to spend a virtual fortune on the care and feeding of something that is, essentially, useless? I wonder what it is about grass that makes us feel compelled to grow and nurture it, just so we can hack it back again?
I had a neighbor a long time ago who killed off all the grass in her front yard, and installed a huge bed of bushes instead. The entire neighborhood, except for me, thought she was crazy. I thought she had the right idea, but didn't have the courage to swim upstream.
But grass is perverse, and I watched her battle the infiltration of rogue grass like a predator. She would see a green blade sticking up, and she would pull it. If a weed dared to bare it's head, it would be Round-ed Up and killed. But it seemed, in the end, that she was as much a prisoner of her lawn as I am of mine, because she spent as much time pulling as I do mowing.
Perhaps, in the end, it is pure laziness that has made us a green nation, literally. Maybe somewhere along the line, we decided it was easier to just let it have its way than continue to fight a losing battle, and thus was born the American lawn.
Certainly gives you something to ponder while you shove your mower around your lawn, though, doesn't it?
