Splendor in the Grass

Report from the front. The oceanfront. Our associate editor Lynn writes from Cape Cod on the epic battle to repair bare spots in the lawn, as Nature intended. (NOTE: the word “grass” here refers to the East Coast, not the West Coast presumption of definition)

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For weeks I’ve been annoyed by our landscaper ignoring my repeated requests to patch some bare spots in our lawn, so I decided to take matters into my own hands. After all, my dad taught me how to handle that…

It wasn’t all that easy, though.

First I needed to get some topsoil, grass seed and mulch. The grass seed, no problem. But wouldn’t you know the smallest bag of topsoil was 25 lbs. and mulch was 30 lbs. Undaunted, I drove them home and headed for the wheelbarrow.

Uh oh, the tire was flat. I went to the office and announced to Tim that I needed his truck so I could buy a new wheelbarrow. He told me not to be ridiculous and pumped up the tire for me. I didn’t know we had a pump.

(Ed. Note: Lynn’s dad once bought a new electric lawnmower rather than go through all the fuss of getting the blade sharpened on his old one.)

Once I had wheeled the 55 lbs of soil and mulch (plus grass seed and garden claw) down to the lawn, I earned bonus aches and pains over the weekend clawing, adding soil, seeding, mulching and watering. Afterwards, I wheeled the remaining 40 lbs of soil, mulch, seed and claw back to the garage, where it will sit until Tim does his autumn garage cleaning and throws it out (that’s how we roll).

It was worth it, though… this morning I saw tiny little grass shoots peeping through the mulch like a green five o’clock shadow!

Soon the grass will flourish. Then the landscapers will finally arrive, look at each other, and say – “It looks okay. What is she bitching about?)

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About Al

Editors of The Horse You Rode In On (listed below) hail from Boston, Pittsburgh, and San Francisco. All contributions are signed. When guest contributors are included, their comments will be signed in a manner consistent with their needs for discretion, witness protection, or yearning for personal adulation.