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Sept. 1, 2004 When did it become such a chore to mow the lawn? I need to know. Somewhere after 'man' created fire and put up fences to keep animals out -- this includes other 'men,' it was decided that the lawn had to be kept neat and trim. Weeds had to be plucked, flowers had to be fertilized, and grass actually had to be watered. How did these chores, once the battery of the male arsenal of weekend pride, turn into work and loathsome slavery? Around where I live, and as I am sure in other areas, there are neighborhood fashionistas that are called out when the grass is too tall, and when junk is piled too high, thus creating an eyesore and dangerous living conditions. The reasoning behind a country-side Komissar is to help regulate community health, but in reality what really happens is a lack of true camaraderie. Lawn-tenders rush to spend their money (which helps businesses; I'm sure they are behind the beauty ordinances) and their time just so their lawns look better than anyone else's on the block. An envy-frenzy has been incubated for way too long. Let us be over that, people! So now, instead of worrying about picking stickers out of our socks, or the amount of dandelions populating the yard, we must all stress out about the other yards. Can't grow your own wildflower plot either, without having a nosy neighbor picking up the phone to call you in. Just over a century ago, we would be pleased to have a colorful, rat infested lawn with pollenators that can only now be found by the choking highways. What has happened? Well, some say the blame should be put on necessity, for in our industrial revolution, one Mr. Budding (appropriate!) tinkered with the idea of trashing the scythe, and was inclined to push rolling metal around. It had freed up more time, and that sounds okay, but what of the finesse? Why must we labor so? I Will join the ranks and say that the lay with The American Garden Club. They got into our business, and decided that we Americans should have prestine green lawns, shorn like a golf course fairway. And they pushed, and pushed. And we gave in. We give ourselves sore, green knees, blisters on our hands, splinters in our fingers, sunburns, and countless bug bites. Poor us. ------------ About the author: Jim Cripps, writer and editor, usually wallows at his website, http://adjandadv.20megsfree.com/, and has carpal-tunnel-syndrome from keeping his hand out all day. Email: jimcripps@hotmail.com Tell a friend about this site! ------------ |
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