Lawn Wars

There’s a hole in the middle of the yard,
There’s a hole in the middle of the yard,
There’s a hoe-ell! There’s a hoe-ell!
There’s a hole in the middle of the yard.

The Lovely Bride and I have our pied-à-terre in the exurbs between Renton and Kent, near Panther Lake. We have a nice bit of tree-shaded property, which is divided into the following sections - House, Lawn, Garden, Wilderness, and Driveway.

Maintaining the House is a team effort, while the Wilderness along the back property line is generally ignored by both. The Lawn is mostly my worry and the Garden is mostly the LB’s (The Driveway is a demilitarized zone, but that is a subject for another day).

Now changing these borders requires careful negotiation. While I hate mowing and weeding, I enjoy the wide expanse of grass behind the house, viewable from my office. The lawn itself is a motley collection of grasses, weeds, and wildflowers (current dominant inhabitant - buttercups). However, I am always wary about surrendering any of that space to the Garden division, so the Lovely B has been waging a “hearts-and-minds” approach to getting more space for her tomatoes, intent on putting them in the sun.

There are plants in the hole in the middle of the yard,
There are plants in the hole in the middle of the yard,
There’s a hoe-ell! There’s a hoe-ell!
There’s a hole in the middle of the yard.

The simple fact is that the lot is very shady, protected by maples, pines and spruces on all sides. While this makes it nice to avoid the prying lenses of photo satellites and Google Streetview, it does make it difficult to grow things. And while the Lovely Bride has been successful with her flowerbeds and with beans and asparagus, tomatoes have been a running battle. So finally, she wanted to install a pair of raised beds in the middle of the yard, right over the septic tank pipes.
Now, after mowing the lawn a few dozen times since February, I don’t mind losing a few more square feet to the garden. But the new arrangement involves more EDGES. And anyone who has had to mow knows that mowing is brute force, while edging is the real pain. So there were negotiations.

There are slugs on the plants in the hole in the middle of the yard,
There are slugs on the plants in the hole in the middle of the yard,
There’s a hoe-ell! There’s a hoe-ell!
There’s a hole in the middle of the yard.

The end result was that the two beds are going in, but leaving enough space so we could still do lawn bowling between them. And from the way she has laid them out, it looks pretty good, and does not destroy my “field of green” too much. Plus, she had to mow the lawn in order to clear the space for it all.

There are spots on the slugs on the plants in the hole in the middle of the yard,
There are spots on the slugs on the plants in the hole in the middle of the yard,
There’s a hoe-ell! There’s a hoe-ell!
There’s a hole in the middle of the yard.

So all this happened the past weekend, while I was striving against a massive head cold (and losing). And when I am sick, I tend to, um, sing. Bad songs, with lyrics of my own devising. And while she was toiling in the sun (because that is why the new beds are there in the first place), I was on my back porch, singing the above song, making up more lyrics as I went along.

There is moss on the spots on the slugs on the plants in the hole in the middle of the yard,
There is moss on the spots on the slugs on the plants in the hole in the middle of the yard,
There’s a hoe-urk!! –

And that, your honor, is when she threw a tomato plant at me. Don’t know why.

More later,

Obligatory Dandelion Post

So this weekend was clear and warm, a rarity in spring in the Pacific Northwest. So I spent it writing and playing games (Civ and Legos Star Wars), but mostly I spent it in the backyard, in hand-to-hand battle with dandelions.

Whenever anyone or anything really bothers me, to the point that I would say "I hate that!" I ask myself if I hate that person or thing as much as I hate dandelions. And the answer is usually no. I think I have a mania about them, a red-hot hate that burns deep within me. So I am out in the back yard, puncturing the mossy soil with my yard weasel (a cane-like device with a gripping ring of nails at the base), uprooting the evil plants and cackling, literally cackling, as I ripped them from the soil.

And I can't explain the hate. It's not the color, since in three weeks buttercups of the exact shade will come up and the lawn will look nice. And its not the invasive plant thing, since there are worse offenders in the lawn (but then, they're green). And its not just being a dandelion, since there is usually a later crop in high summer, when the grass stops growing, which are taller and have woodier stems. Them, I do not hate. But these dandelions? With their hollow, milky stems and bright yellow heads? Them, I hate.

And I have paid for that hatred, in the form of a small blister on my thumb from uprooting the plants all day. But still, its a good pain, to be cherished and nourished as a reminder of the hate - which will last until the next sunny day, where I will be confronted with another crop of them.

More later,

UPDATE: Apparently, my plight has moved Colin to thoughts of vivid political imagery and revenge.