Watch out for the grass police

The Way I See It


No, the Fourth of July celebration did not arrive early. The marching bands, the fireworks, and shouts of jubilation last week were brought on by my neighbors and friends in “the hood” who were so excited to see me mowing down the weeds in my front yard. Bobbye had noticed that people driving by had quit waving at us, the walkers and joggers no longer met us with a greeting, and mothers and fathers would tell their children to hide their eyes from the hideous view in the West front yard.

Actually I was conducting a highly scientific study on which weeds grow the fastest so that I can add them to our flowerbeds and totally engulf them instead of just partial covering, but I had to end my experiment early. Not only were people driving from the other side of town to criticize my lawn care, but I even noticed the grass police cruising the neighborhood. I figured it was just a matter of time before I received a notice in the mail telling me to clean up my act or that the neighbors would tell Al Gore on me for adding to the global warming by setting fire to my front yard.

Actually, I have sent a note to the weatherman to keep his 30 percent chance of rain in Lafayette, as we seem to be getting the 30 percent – 100 percent of the time. When one attempts to have some yard leveling done is when the skies open up and bring us bountiful blessings. It is kin to when you decide to paint your house or wash and wax your vehicle coincides with the arrival of the love bugs.

So, last Thursday I made preparation for the onslaught against the jungle in my front yard, breaking out the poison to tame the man-eating variety of plants in preparation for a mowing on Friday. As soon as I applied the poison, the rains came and as soon as I finished mowing, blowing, and putting up equipment on Friday, the rains came. My wife was threatening to weed and feed the new dirt on about the second day after its arrival, and I am not sure she didn’t do that when I was napping because the weeds are growing faster than I can spray and mow. I’ve worn out two sets of blades on the mower, but I can’t get a permit from the grass police to bring in some goats. Guess I’m not as politically connected as our nearby neighbors who can grow their grass three feet tall, but use the excuse that they are producing a cash crop. It must be marijuana because I haven’t seen a rice or soybean harvest or a bale of hay in the seven years I have lived in “the hood”. If the cash crop is rats, snakes, or coyotes, it must be ok to allow your grass to get to small forest stage within the city limits, but if you just want to cultivate a few weeds, the grass police will come in and mow at the nominal cost of about $250 for a postage stamp sized lawn.

Sorry, I had to take a break as the weeds were beginning to knock on the front door. Wanted to spray some more before we get our 30 percent daily rain chance. I should have a job that pays me to be right about 30 percent of the time. That’s about as often as I get “the husband” part right.

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Posted by on Jun 27 2013. Filed under Editorial Columns. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0. Both comments and pings are currently closed.

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