Once again, it’s raining and I have yet to mow my lawn. Luckily, Carol was off yesterday morning and was able to mow the front yard so that people driving by get the impression that I take good care of my lawn. My neighbors who can see the back yard, however, they know differently. It’s not that I don’t want to get out there and mow the lawn, but the weather, mine and Carol’s schedule, and my laziness always seem to throw a wrench into my plans. I always have big plans for my yard and what I’m going to do, but then spring passes, it gets too hot, and nothing gets done. I go through this every year and I don’t know why I let it get to me, but it still does. Actually, I think I do know why.
It all has to do with my father.
For anyone that has ever visited either my parent’s old house in Belleville or the new one in Millstadt, you know one thing – the lawn is perfect. There is not a weed to be found. There is not a crooked line from the lawn mower wheels. There is not a single flower, bush, tree, rock, piece of mulch, leaf, or anything out of place. It’s as if you could take the cover photo for Better Homes and Gardens right there for every single issue. It is the most beautiful, well manicured, and well maintained lawn you will ever find from a man who works full time. Scratch that. It’s the best you’ll ever find.
You see, my father is a lawn artist. In fact, let’s make up a new word and call him a lawntist. Of course, I’m not so sure that the new word will be able to catch on and be applied anywhere else as I’m pretty sure that he’s the only person who does what he does – without getting paid for it. I am actually partially convinced that one of the reasons my father agreed to move to Millstadt from his home in Belleville is that his lawn canvas had been filled and he was looking forward to a new one. He was a master lawntist who after 30+ years at his old house had perfected his craft and was now moving into a new studio to apply all that he had learned to his new surroundings.
And he did it beautifully.
As to be expected, after roughly 3 years at my parent’s new home, my father has transformed what was a very nice lawn and garden setup into another Dennis Hopfinger masterpiece. The flowers never wilt and are changed out with every season. There is not a single blade of grass that is shorter or taller than the other and every blade is greener than the next. The bushes and trees are all well manicured and standing as straight or laying as flat as they are supposed to do. Actually, they are beyond what they are supposed to be. It’s as if my father’s lawn is his army unit and he is the drill sergeant. He commands them to stand up straight and tall, to be clean shaven with freshly pressed uniforms and perfectly shined shoes, and to be all that they can be.
And they listen to him.
I am so proud of my father’s lawn and the pride he takes in it. It makes me even prouder when I run into someone who knows my father or lives in or around his neighborhood and they mention to me how great his lawn always looks. I also know that it makes him ecstatic to hear that as well. I vaguely remember a contest that the old Belleville Journal had to vote on the best lawn in Belleville. I remember going to the principal’s office during one of the days of voting (I may have been there for some minor infraction already, but I was planning on going there regardless) and calling to vote at least 20 times in the hopes that he would win. For some reason though, when the results were posted it showed that my father only got something like 7 votes. I was ticked. I don’t remember how many votes the winner got, but Dad took it in stride and claimed that the guy who won actually had a really nice lawn. I know deep down he would have loved to win, but he didn’t let it get him down. In fact, I think after that he may have even pushed his soldiers a little harder. Thanks for that lesson in life Dad. It was one of many.
That brings me back to my lawn. I keep hearing from various relatives that I’ll get the lawn bug and I too will be out there one day ordering my soldiers to attention. I used to be told that my grandfather had the bug and that my dad got it from him. Lucky for me, Dad dispelled that rumor a few weeks ago when he said that my Grandpa was never as into his lawn as my Dad is into his. That took a lot of pressure away as I thought that maybe I got some sort of recessive lawn gene and I would be a disappointment to the family. I was scared that I might be lawntarded. Either way, whatever it is that my grandpa may have had and my dad has in spades, I just don’t have it.
I try to keep my lawn looking nice. I do. I make sure to cut the grass in a different direction every time to avoid something that I was told that it would do if I didn’t. I plant flowers and bushes in my yard, even though for the longest time, I got my definitions of annuals and perennials mixed up and was always buying the wrong thing and getting confused when some would grow back and others wouldn’t. I use the weed whacker whenever I don’t flood it and end up getting mad and throwing it because it won’t start. I even have mulch, even though most of it has dried out or is completely missing in some places. Of course, most of the yard projects and reasons that my yard looks nice at all are all Carol’s idea and are usually partially completed with Dad’s assistance. I’ve discovered that I’m just there to maintain them after they’re completed. Even so, I’m the one out there (every two weeks or right before the family comes over) sweating my bottom off trying to keep it looking somewhat nice.
As a sidestory, we had Ben’s 3rd birthday party at our house a few weeks ago. That morning, I was so determined to make my lawn look presentable that I cut the front yard twice (once in each direction – diagonally!) and the backyard three times so that there was not a random blade of grass anywhere. I still hadn’t planted any flowers in our empty beds and outside of the grass itself, my yard was a wreck. Either way, when Dad got there one of the first things he said to me meant more to me at that point in time than anything he could have said.
“The yard looks nice.”
Dad, whether you were just trying to make me feel better or you actually mean it, those words meant the world to me. Maybe I will get the bug someday. Maybe once Ben is older and I can trust him to be inside by himself, playing outside away from me, or even helping me out, maybe then I can take the next step in my journey to be a lawntist. I doubt I can ever achieve that status as I think it may be reserved for only one man, but I’ll try. I mean, I’m only 33 years old. I’ve got time.
It’s not like Luke learned the force in one day.
It all has to do with my father.
For anyone that has ever visited either my parent’s old house in Belleville or the new one in Millstadt, you know one thing – the lawn is perfect. There is not a weed to be found. There is not a crooked line from the lawn mower wheels. There is not a single flower, bush, tree, rock, piece of mulch, leaf, or anything out of place. It’s as if you could take the cover photo for Better Homes and Gardens right there for every single issue. It is the most beautiful, well manicured, and well maintained lawn you will ever find from a man who works full time. Scratch that. It’s the best you’ll ever find.
You see, my father is a lawn artist. In fact, let’s make up a new word and call him a lawntist. Of course, I’m not so sure that the new word will be able to catch on and be applied anywhere else as I’m pretty sure that he’s the only person who does what he does – without getting paid for it. I am actually partially convinced that one of the reasons my father agreed to move to Millstadt from his home in Belleville is that his lawn canvas had been filled and he was looking forward to a new one. He was a master lawntist who after 30+ years at his old house had perfected his craft and was now moving into a new studio to apply all that he had learned to his new surroundings.
And he did it beautifully.
As to be expected, after roughly 3 years at my parent’s new home, my father has transformed what was a very nice lawn and garden setup into another Dennis Hopfinger masterpiece. The flowers never wilt and are changed out with every season. There is not a single blade of grass that is shorter or taller than the other and every blade is greener than the next. The bushes and trees are all well manicured and standing as straight or laying as flat as they are supposed to do. Actually, they are beyond what they are supposed to be. It’s as if my father’s lawn is his army unit and he is the drill sergeant. He commands them to stand up straight and tall, to be clean shaven with freshly pressed uniforms and perfectly shined shoes, and to be all that they can be.
And they listen to him.
I am so proud of my father’s lawn and the pride he takes in it. It makes me even prouder when I run into someone who knows my father or lives in or around his neighborhood and they mention to me how great his lawn always looks. I also know that it makes him ecstatic to hear that as well. I vaguely remember a contest that the old Belleville Journal had to vote on the best lawn in Belleville. I remember going to the principal’s office during one of the days of voting (I may have been there for some minor infraction already, but I was planning on going there regardless) and calling to vote at least 20 times in the hopes that he would win. For some reason though, when the results were posted it showed that my father only got something like 7 votes. I was ticked. I don’t remember how many votes the winner got, but Dad took it in stride and claimed that the guy who won actually had a really nice lawn. I know deep down he would have loved to win, but he didn’t let it get him down. In fact, I think after that he may have even pushed his soldiers a little harder. Thanks for that lesson in life Dad. It was one of many.
That brings me back to my lawn. I keep hearing from various relatives that I’ll get the lawn bug and I too will be out there one day ordering my soldiers to attention. I used to be told that my grandfather had the bug and that my dad got it from him. Lucky for me, Dad dispelled that rumor a few weeks ago when he said that my Grandpa was never as into his lawn as my Dad is into his. That took a lot of pressure away as I thought that maybe I got some sort of recessive lawn gene and I would be a disappointment to the family. I was scared that I might be lawntarded. Either way, whatever it is that my grandpa may have had and my dad has in spades, I just don’t have it.
I try to keep my lawn looking nice. I do. I make sure to cut the grass in a different direction every time to avoid something that I was told that it would do if I didn’t. I plant flowers and bushes in my yard, even though for the longest time, I got my definitions of annuals and perennials mixed up and was always buying the wrong thing and getting confused when some would grow back and others wouldn’t. I use the weed whacker whenever I don’t flood it and end up getting mad and throwing it because it won’t start. I even have mulch, even though most of it has dried out or is completely missing in some places. Of course, most of the yard projects and reasons that my yard looks nice at all are all Carol’s idea and are usually partially completed with Dad’s assistance. I’ve discovered that I’m just there to maintain them after they’re completed. Even so, I’m the one out there (every two weeks or right before the family comes over) sweating my bottom off trying to keep it looking somewhat nice.
As a sidestory, we had Ben’s 3rd birthday party at our house a few weeks ago. That morning, I was so determined to make my lawn look presentable that I cut the front yard twice (once in each direction – diagonally!) and the backyard three times so that there was not a random blade of grass anywhere. I still hadn’t planted any flowers in our empty beds and outside of the grass itself, my yard was a wreck. Either way, when Dad got there one of the first things he said to me meant more to me at that point in time than anything he could have said.
“The yard looks nice.”
Dad, whether you were just trying to make me feel better or you actually mean it, those words meant the world to me. Maybe I will get the bug someday. Maybe once Ben is older and I can trust him to be inside by himself, playing outside away from me, or even helping me out, maybe then I can take the next step in my journey to be a lawntist. I doubt I can ever achieve that status as I think it may be reserved for only one man, but I’ll try. I mean, I’m only 33 years old. I’ve got time.
It’s not like Luke learned the force in one day.
Lanwtarded I love it! I think I might be on that short bus with you. Maybe if we put our helmets together we can figure out how to achieve a green thumb!
ReplyDelete-Sasha
Another awesome post. This has become the highlight of my day!
ReplyDeleteScott, that touches my heart. I was mowing my mom's lawn the other day all kinds of crazy direction, and I not kidding you, the FIRST thing that popped into my head? Mr. Hopfinger would be so disappointed with my lines!
ReplyDeleteI remember you telling me that he raked the driveway so that rocks were all evenly dispersed. So I thought it was so very sweet that your dad said your lawn looked nice :) I almost cried!
Loving your blog, btw!