A
Yard of Grass
Men are the same everywhere. Here in
the United States, where we may talk a different brand of English or wear
different clothes than what is normally accepted in Ireland, we still
enjoy that certain manly pursuit of being able to sit around the house
or the local tavern on our days off and watch sport on the television
with all our rowdy friends.
When God made Eve, He set up a chain of events that separated the men
from the women, and we've had this really hard time through the ages convincing
the women in our lives how to see things our way. Case in point is the
difference between a lawn and a yard. It may be winter right now, but
everyone will soon be searching for those first signs of spring. Over
here on this side of the Atlantic, we look for the first jonquils to poke
above the cold soil or first flock of migrating geese seen flying overhead
across a gray and cloudy early spring day.
Most men don't want to even breathe the dreaded "G" word, but springtime
for us begins when we see the grass beginning to grow and it nears the
days of despair and tribulation when it's time to get outÉ the lawn mower.
It's out there collecting dust right now, but soon we'll be saying, "Honey,
it's been sitting too long and the engine seized up." Or, "It's got bad
gas and it ruined the engine." Or we'll inject some anger with, "Why can't
those dome-headed scientists invent grass that doesn't grow more than
two inches?"
Grass?? YUCK! Who invented the stuff, anyway?
This brings up a fine issue for discussion. See, there are lawns, and
there are yards. It's one of those yin and yang things. Long ago, cavemen
began to emerge from their pleasant cave surroundings after the Ice Age
and abandoned hunting and fishing as a way of life. We had to try and
please women with what we call civilization, and were rewarded with this
really stupid idea of a lawn. They have this strange idea that every man
should have his castle and the domain around it somehow belongs to them.
They envision islands of status and beauty in a world filled with the
chaos of nature. They want to surround themselves with neatly mowed grass,
arranged flower beds, trimmed hedges and no more than one medium-sized
tree, preferably of the flowering sort that sends fragrance with each
gentle breeze.
It is a man's misfortune to be the one who maintains this idle vision
of perfection. As he strains and perspires behind the hated lawn mower,
she's gibbering some shrill command as she sips iced tea and smells the
flowers. We men perform slave labor in the accursed growing season, because
we have to be better than what the neighbors have. A lot of thanks we
get. So much for resting and watching sports with all our rowdy friends.
No wonder women live longer. It's high time we stand up for ourselves,
men! It's time we set our foot down while the grass won't grow and the
sun doesn't shine very long and straighten out our wives on what a man
needs in life. What a man needs is a yard!
We're not just some right-side brain thinking Neanderthals whose only
goal in life is having a woman's body at our pleasure. Why, we're a very
complex half of the human race and we just happen to have a different
view of perfection. Women think of lawns, men think of yards.
Somewhere out there, there is a man after my own dreams. A yard is that
special place in the hollow, up on the mountain side, out in the swamps
or along a river around a fishing shack. The mud-spattered four-wheeler
parked close to the house is wearing ruts, but hey, the fishing and hunting
is easy access. Just a fishing shack with partially painted lap siding
and a rock to hold down the tin roof is all a man needs to call his castle.
This is Heaven. Several large shade trees keep the place cool in the summer
and provide plenty of leaves in the autumn to help kill the grass. A couple
of milk goats eat down the weeds and any invasive grass that dares get
too close to the yard while some chickens eat all the bugs.
A yard is somewhere where a man can sit in the shaded corners of his domain
while he watches his neighbor mow their lawn next door. A yard is for
lots of laughing children with rope swings and tree houses. A yard is
not organized or sanitary. It's a compromise with nature and the things
that matter most in life. Who cares what the neighbors think?
Grass out, trees in. Flowers out, vegetable patches in. While you ponder
those first signs of spring, I hope you good wives out there listen when
your husband says, "Honey, the mower won't work." Or, "This year, you
cut the grass."
It's a man thing -- don't get upset.
by
Fred Roe
4th February 2002.
In a month's time, Fred will start mowing
his lawn.
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