You could definitely say that we had our share of troubles with our long green yard guest. First it was petty theft, as it hid small items from us. Later it went on to bigger items, growing over them or weaving itself around them to hide them from our view. Soon : Grand Theft Auto!
We went to bed one night perfectly secure in the knowledge that every junk vehicle in the yard was safe and secure ( someone having already taken severe liberties with their windows).
Well, we didn’t look to closely at them after that for a week or two. We were busy with real chores and felt no need to bother the vehicles we were never really going to fix, nor the grass we were never really going to cut.
When we did look again, though, we had quite a shock. It wasn’t only that the cars were gone or even that the grass had apparently taken their place. On top of that, someone had apparently stolen a good portion of our driveway.
This was a new one on us. We had had problems with the grass hiding things, with neighbors borrowing things and never returning them, with hitchhikers stopping by and relieving us of excess edibles…but never had we heard of or dreamed of someone actually stealing a large chunk of driveway.
On this occasion we investigated and it turned out, of course, that the grass had picked up a new trick. It had covered over the cars and then, by way of distraction, it had decided to grow around the edges of the driveway in such a manner that the border was still shaped exactly as it had been, so that it would appear that the sides of our driveway had been taken somewhere.
Even worse than that however, was what else we discovered during that investigation. To make its driveway scheme work, to truly give the impression that the borders were all as before, the grass needed help. Hence started the most heinous part of this tale. It brought the trees in to its’ sordid world and corrupted them with teasing promises of wealth. Not even the youngest of the saplings were spared.
It was around this time that my family moved about eight miles down the road, no longer feeling the slightest safety. We couldn’t sleep nights for fear that we’d awaken to find ourselves in a dismal green prison from which there would be no escape.
It was at this new residence, which came complete with lawn, wherein my mother began to have foolish hopes of convincing her children, or at least her husband, that not all grass will physically assault you for trimming it down a bit. But we were having none of that.
Then the mysterious happenings happened. One day I walked home from school and, lo and behold, as in looked down at the yard my gaze fell upon the beautiful sight of clean cut grass.
You know what? We had an actual lawn. I was fair to bursting with happiness. Mainly, I’ll admit, because the fearful waiting period was over for me and I had been given a definite reprieve from the possible sentence of mowing the lawn. But, I did have a few bad moments where I was almost completely possessed by the demon called White Bread Americanism.
Wild pains wracked my body as I noticed a bit of crabgrass and my mind was flooded with murderous intent. I wanted to go buy fertilizer and other goodies, put on plaid shorts that are too long and too loud to ever be cool, yet too short to prevent the neighbors from being blinded by the glint of the sun as it splashed off my ever so fish belly white legs, and do some preventative lawn care maintenance.
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