The Friday newsletter faces down nature's ceaseless springtime advance
I never wanted to be someone who cared about a lawn.
There are some people, resolute and committed Yard People, who care very deeply about their lawns. They meticulously cultivate their grass, fending off weeds with knowledge, chemicals and time. They take pleasure from the process of mowing and tending their yards. They sculpt a residential lot into a perfectly-manicured landscape worthy of a major league ballfield.
I never envisioned myself being one of those people. For years, I lived in apartments, and the idea of a lawn was just suburban excess to me. But now, I have a house with a yard, and try as I might, I’m forced to care.
Mind you, it still doesn’t look like I care.
My yard is a horrible mess of clover, garlic, wildflowers and weeds, aesthetically pleasing in its own way, but completely unmanageable. Each spring, there’s roughly a three-day gap between the first time I think “hmm, I might need to mow the lawn soon” and the point I’m tasked with running over FernGully with a che…