Lawn Order
The Source
As you look out upon your grass that seems to be on steroids this spring growing two inches a day, it might be some consolation to think upon last summer when we wondered if the color green had completely disappeared from the Illinois landscape. Lawn mowing has become almost an art form among the more industrious in our affluent society. Within a single city block you can see at least a half dozen different attitudes toward lawn care, ranging from the carefully manicured to the open range. When I was in college I lived on Woodland Place. They’ve torn down our house, thus destroying any hopes for a National Monument to the three college boys who went on to damage the world. Our landlord, a fellow who treated his grass like a cherished member of the family, bordered us on the north. I think Dick actually talked to his lawn. At least I heard him muttering late at night. This was back in the days before the edge trimmers so I think Mr. Boudreau used a pair of scissors to feather-cut the blades along his sidewalk. I may be exaggerating, but I remember his lawn always looking like something that Tiger Woods would appreciate as he approached the final hole at The Masters. On our south was a remarkably eccentric little rascal, Dr. Fredrick Engelbach. Doc Engelbach apparently worked long hours at the office. I know no other reason he’d choose to mow his lawn at midnight. I’d just settle down for a long summer’s nap when Blam! The good doctor would flood his yard with spotlights and the entire neighborhood would be serenaded with the sound of his lawn mower. No matter the weather, Doc E. would put on his African safari shorts, his rear-view mirror glasses (who could possibly be sneaking up on him at midnight?), and start making laps back and forth in his yard. This left us, the three indolent college kids, in the middle. Our lawn care habits were somewhat less refined than the rest of our neighborhood. I think we owned a mower. I can remember seeing one. And when our paperboy could no longer slog his way through the yard we considered cutting the grass. Maybe that’s why our old college house is no longer standing. The vegetation may have consumed it. Now I live in Arenzville and although we’re a tiny town, we still have the same spectrum of lawn care and I’ve had to make one serious adjustment. When I was a teenager my brother and I would not only mow our family yard, but for a couple of summers we hacked away at the town cemetery. Our motto on mower height was “cut it close to the ground and if the grass dies then we won’t have to mow it next time.” Thus I grew up thinking that a well-kept lawn should look like a putting green or a burr haircut. However, I’ve found that is not the current trend in Arenzville or anywhere else. Many of my neighbors now mow their grass to the height at which I would start cutting it. Maybe that’s why their lawns seem more lush and they don’t have the bare spots still visible in the Perry, Illinois, cemetery. I sit on the board of a nearby campground, and a few years ago our camp manager wearied of mowing the camp’s vast acreage. He thought that a small herd of goats could do the mowing for him. The fellow designed a moveable pen and it was his plan to move the bearded little rascals around the camp and park the lawnmower in the shed. He knew little about goats except that they ate almost anything including grass, and on this point he was correct. Then came the day when he found the goats had eaten all the allotted grass, jumped their little fence, and when he located them they were happily nibbling away at the remaining shreds of his pickup truck’s upholstery. He and his wife dined on goat for most of the following winter. Of course the agrichemical industry has developed several varieties of grasses that reach a certain height then stop growing. I doubt these will ever catch on. Retired men will still need something to do, and if someone stunts their grass they’ll be tempted to start mowing their wives’ carpets. I no longer mow my yard. Arenzville is a safe little town, but apparently we occasionally have visitors. One night a visitor stole my lawnmower. Most folks would regard such outright theft as an outrage but I took it as a sign from God that I should stop mowing my yard and hire it done. I don’t know where that thief is today, but may God bless him.