The hot summer sun reflecting through the glass of my ice-cold drink creates its own weather pattern. Beads of condensation slowly slide down the glass towards the small black table it rests on. In a three-quarter reclined state, my lawn chair is my support system for the day as I fade in and out while reading a great American novel. I look up from my book and take in the scene laid out before me.
The freshly cut lawn bears the lines of a perfect mow. The flower beds are a deep dark brown with not a single weed in site. The perfectly manicured shrubs frame the flowers now in full bloom. I breathe deeply, taking in the smell of the grass with undertones of sweet nectar from the flowers. Slowly, I reach over and grasp the wet, cool glass and bring it to my lips for a nice long pull of ice-cold lemonade. Then clang clang clang — and I’m choking on dust.
I snap out of my daydream as I mow over a molehill, launching rocks through the yard and creating a plume of dry summer dirt. The wind is blowing in just the wrong direction so that every morsel of dirt that flew into the air is now in my nose, throat, hair, and stuck to my sweaty skin. There will be no lounging in the lawn chair on this day. In fact, last summer, I fell through the lawn chair as the old, cracked rubber bands gave way under my weight, and it has yet to be replaced. No, today the yard is a place of work, not leisure. I will toil most of the day so I can fantasize about spending time in the perfect yard.
This is my reality and, I imagine, that of most people. We work all week to afford to buy the tools and fuel to work in our yard. The yard is a fantasy land where we imagine the perfect barbeques and yard games are only interrupted to grab another beverage from the cooler or a dog off the grill. Kids roll around in the soft grass, and the neighbors just can’t stop talking about how great the yard looks. Whenever there’s a pause in the conversation, they ask about grass seeds and favorite brand of fertilizer.
Instead, what we have is a race against nature.
The sunny spring days followed by torrential downpours create the ideal environment for growing grass in addition to every invasive species known to man. Blackberry bushes relentlessly assault my defensive perimeter, working 24 hours a day to sneak past the lone guard: me. Vining plants of all sorts snake through my yard and climb the trees. I beat them back, but they race back to where I’ve cut as soon as I turn.
If I’m being honest, my yard isn’t even a yard. What I have is a dandelion farm with patches of grass mixed in. The pretty yellow flowers are a welcoming sign of the turning season, but as soon as they turn to white fluff, I know I’ve lost. They’ve won and will now send their copious seed far and wide. Their invasion tactics are less aggressive than the blackberries — but just as effective.
The irony of working in our yards is fitting of an Alanis Morrisette song. Other people’s yards may be a place of leisure, but not our own; ours is a place of work. It’s lawnmowers and hedgers, weed whackers and blowers. We dig, spread, prune, and rake all for the dream of the perfect day in the perfect yard with the perfect weather. While I can daydream with the best of them, I’m also a realist, so I’m flipping the script.
My yard is now my gym and library. I don’t go there to sit and relax, I go there to get fit and catch up on all the books and podcasts I’ve been meaning to get to. Instead of dozing while reading a good book, I listen to it through my earbuds while lying on my back, trying to untangle the dog toy from the mower. I have someone read me the carefully crafted words while I work my muscles and wipe the blood from the latest blackberry strike.
I’m embracing the yard for what it is. It’s a place to work in hopes of achieving a scene of which Ward Cleaver would be proud. It’s a place to torture our children in the name of building character and teaching work ethic. It’s a place for getting mad at plants and animals who dare touch our space without permission. Embracing it for what it is will make the moments of enjoyment all the more special. On the occasion when the work is done — or at least acceptable — we can step into our yard and enjoy a game of catch with our kids, roll around with our dog, and boast to our neighbor.
Cheers to yard work.
