I don't dream in black and white. I dream in Green. Specifically John Deere Green. This could be the richness of a well maintained lawn or a spiffy new John Deere rider with a bright yellow seat, made just for me. Yes, that's my dream ride. :)
It wasn't but about one year ago that I wrote a blog about living in Chicago, on the verge of making a huge decision that would change our paths in life, that I began to think of life outside of the Chicago city limits. I would take Sebastian for long walks around our yuppified neighborhood and come home, full of ideas and rants & raves on the latest happenings of my too-rich-for-their-own-good neighbors. From Land Rovers blocking my parking space to snotty kids cutting in front of me at Sweet Mandy B's, they provided quite a bit of entertainment that went unwritten (but brought me quite a few internal chuckles all the same!). I once blogged about a woman that lived down the street from us that could often be seen cutting her front lawn with scissors. Seriously, like kitchen shears. I thought she was a nut job at the time, but...
A few weeks ago, I walked out my back door in Texas~yes, hot-as-hell-in-what-should be springtime Texas~and was so discouraged as I tossed off my flip flops to put my bare feet in the grass. Anyone that knows me well knows of both my shoe fetish and my dislike of actually wearing shoes. For 34 years, each spring, I wait...no, I dream, about that day in w
hich I can open all of the windows and run outside, daring to peel off my socks and shoes and set foot in the carpet of my lawn. Ha. This year the joke was definitely on me, for many reasons (and I can't even remember the last time a pair of socks graced my feet...). Let's just say that grass in Texas is NOT THE SAME as any grass I have ever encountered. It resembles thick, pointy brownish-green blades of Foot Cutting Death. Seriously. You can't walk barefoot in this stuff. Ever. Not in spring. Not in fall. Give me a bed of sharp nails, they'd probably hurt less than the lawn I am currently tending and tip-toeing around in. Sebastian has to be coaxed off of the patio to walk five feet to lift his leg on a tree...coaxed is a kind phrase...I usually have to chase him off and say every "hot button" word I know to excite him (Papa, bath, bye bye, birdies, bunnies, squirrels, Daddy)to even get the dog to go in the grass and pee. There must be something terribly wrong with my lawn if the dog doesn't even want to use it!
In great disgust and for lack of knowing what to do to make this yard of ours at least pleasing to our eyes if not to our feet, I called upon the Great Grass God for his expertise, advice and well, damn it, I needed his help. My dad, the GGG (Great Grass God), listened and asked a few questions, and carefully reminded me that this grass will never be as I want it to be, it is North Texas after all. I'm stu
bborn and I don't want to hear that!!!! I NEED to walk across the yard barefoot, to feel the softness between my toes....Dad, Help Me! Okay, Okay, he finally gave in and offered a few pointers (rake, seed, water, patience, fertilize, water, water, water) and I am following them to his exact instruction. I have internally giggled my way across the backyard with my memories of the crazy lady in Lincoln Park that literally would cut her front patch of lawn with kitchen shears...for I, too, have utilized my own kitchen shears in my backyard. I know, chuckle away...I used them for an area that the rake couldn't handle. :)
Currently, I have spotted signs of teeny, tiny blades of green grass pushing through the brown life that surrounds them, reaching for more water and more sunshine. I have carefully planted, fertilized, watered and watched. If I am sitting really still in the evening on my patio, beer and/or wine in hand, I swear I can hear it growing. At least, that's what the GGG (aka, my Dad) says I should be able to hear. Maybe its the wine. Maybe its my genes. I am determined to have a luscious, velvety and green lawn before this summer ends. I am my father's daughter after all.
If it doesn't work, well, then I guess we will have to pack up and leave the land of Cowboy Love in search of greener lawns. :)
Until again,
Red
In reference to above pictures:
Top photo: My dad's blissfully green, velvety soft lawn in Liberty, MO.
Middle photo: My backyard, Coppell, TX (ducks are just visiting)
Lower photo: GGG, aka: My Daddy
It wasn't but about one year ago that I wrote a blog about living in Chicago, on the verge of making a huge decision that would change our paths in life, that I began to think of life outside of the Chicago city limits. I would take Sebastian for long walks around our yuppified neighborhood and come home, full of ideas and rants & raves on the latest happenings of my too-rich-for-their-own-good neighbors. From Land Rovers blocking my parking space to snotty kids cutting in front of me at Sweet Mandy B's, they provided quite a bit of entertainment that went unwritten (but brought me quite a few internal chuckles all the same!). I once blogged about a woman that lived down the street from us that could often be seen cutting her front lawn with scissors. Seriously, like kitchen shears. I thought she was a nut job at the time, but...
A few weeks ago, I walked out my back door in Texas~yes, hot-as-hell-in-what-should be springtime Texas~and was so discouraged as I tossed off my flip flops to put my bare feet in the grass. Anyone that knows me well knows of both my shoe fetish and my dislike of actually wearing shoes. For 34 years, each spring, I wait...no, I dream, about that day in w
hich I can open all of the windows and run outside, daring to peel off my socks and shoes and set foot in the carpet of my lawn. Ha. This year the joke was definitely on me, for many reasons (and I can't even remember the last time a pair of socks graced my feet...). Let's just say that grass in Texas is NOT THE SAME as any grass I have ever encountered. It resembles thick, pointy brownish-green blades of Foot Cutting Death. Seriously. You can't walk barefoot in this stuff. Ever. Not in spring. Not in fall. Give me a bed of sharp nails, they'd probably hurt less than the lawn I am currently tending and tip-toeing around in. Sebastian has to be coaxed off of the patio to walk five feet to lift his leg on a tree...coaxed is a kind phrase...I usually have to chase him off and say every "hot button" word I know to excite him (Papa, bath, bye bye, birdies, bunnies, squirrels, Daddy)to even get the dog to go in the grass and pee. There must be something terribly wrong with my lawn if the dog doesn't even want to use it!In great disgust and for lack of knowing what to do to make this yard of ours at least pleasing to our eyes if not to our feet, I called upon the Great Grass God for his expertise, advice and well, damn it, I needed his help. My dad, the GGG (Great Grass God), listened and asked a few questions, and carefully reminded me that this grass will never be as I want it to be, it is North Texas after all. I'm stu
bborn and I don't want to hear that!!!! I NEED to walk across the yard barefoot, to feel the softness between my toes....Dad, Help Me! Okay, Okay, he finally gave in and offered a few pointers (rake, seed, water, patience, fertilize, water, water, water) and I am following them to his exact instruction. I have internally giggled my way across the backyard with my memories of the crazy lady in Lincoln Park that literally would cut her front patch of lawn with kitchen shears...for I, too, have utilized my own kitchen shears in my backyard. I know, chuckle away...I used them for an area that the rake couldn't handle. :)Currently, I have spotted signs of teeny, tiny blades of green grass pushing through the brown life that surrounds them, reaching for more water and more sunshine. I have carefully planted, fertilized, watered and watched. If I am sitting really still in the evening on my patio, beer and/or wine in hand, I swear I can hear it growing. At least, that's what the GGG (aka, my Dad) says I should be able to hear. Maybe its the wine. Maybe its my genes. I am determined to have a luscious, velvety and green lawn before this summer ends. I am my father's daughter after all.
If it doesn't work, well, then I guess we will have to pack up and leave the land of Cowboy Love in search of greener lawns. :)
Until again,
Red
In reference to above pictures:
Top photo: My dad's blissfully green, velvety soft lawn in Liberty, MO.
Middle photo: My backyard, Coppell, TX (ducks are just visiting)
Lower photo: GGG, aka: My Daddy
