Editor’s note: This column is a continuation from last week’s column.

For purposes of identification in the following column, Homo Sapiens becomes Home Sap, who represents any homeowner expending serious effort to create a beautiful yard…


We left Home Sap last week with a fully grown yard, and a major question: Can he enjoy the fruits of the labors he put forth to produce said yard?

Of course not. And here's why.

Because after all the work to grow the yard, he's got to mow the yard, or at the very least give it the once over with a hay baler, and if the lawn has grown too well, set fire to the yard.

To do any of these things, Home Sap has to bestir himself from his favorite easy chair. This is an incredibly improbable process -- akin to an iron filing pulling away from an industrial magnet -- because the force of gravity is 60 times stronger in a man's favorite recliner than it is anywhere else, except the dinner table.

That's a known fact, as the saying goes, and certainly not an unknown fact.

The gravitational force is broken quickly, however, when Home Sap's wife, unhappy that the hay field reminds unbaled, says certain incendiary things to him which light off his tail.

With that ignition, the launch sequence is complete, and liftoff takes place. Home Sap -- now madder than a baptized cat --flies off the recliner, bathrobe flapping like giant bat wings, and with smoke billowing from his britches, streaks through the carport door. Which is hopefully open.

The human cruise missile crashes in the front yard.

With a push mower, or a hay baler, he attacks the rain forest that was once his lawn.

My wife and I, ever the gamblers, enjoy an attractive yard, and we get out there to help make it happen.

Meanwhile, our dog advises, supervises, and often fertilizes, churning out Lawn-Gro in an opus of rumbling bowels the way the U. S. Mint churns out pennies.

I’m committed to work by a loving wife who works alongside me. Meanwhile, an inexhaustible mobile fertilizing machine carpet-bombs the lawn the way NATO bombed the Serbs.

Sandra and I are slaves to a well-kept lawn. And so, if you want to have an attractive lawn, are you.

The next time you see a well-tended lawn, consider it a signed work by the owner. Someone invested time, sweat and cash to create it.


If the temperature's right, and you've applied the right chemicals in the proper proportions in the right way at the right time, and you get the right amounts of rain and the right amount sun at the right time, and the moles and blight and crabgrass and the creepin' crud all leave you the heck alone and pass over your property like the Death Angel passing over a house with lamb's blood smeared above the door, then maybe, just maybe, you get an attractive yard too.

This year.

Next year, of course, you start the whole crapshoot again.

Kind of like farming, isn't it?

And while you're trying to create a beautiful lawn of your own, don’t step in a fresh pile of Lawn-Gro...

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