Blogs

There exists today in America an ongoing war that our history books have overlooked.

For never before in the history of the world have so many good men fought so hard and spent so much money in the pursuit of so little ground - that half-acre suburban dream known as the green lawn.

I know that you have seen them at every hardware store in town, war-weary lawn veterans loading up flat-bed carts with grass seed, fertilizer and weed-control products. They stand at the checkout, grave-faced, inadvertently spying what other weekend soldiers are purchasing in the hope of deciphering their battle plans. As they leave the store, they linger over rows of the latest tillers, cultivators and blowers. "Next year I'll have to look into getting one of those if this new clay buster doesn't work."

My husband is a 30-year veteran of the Turf War, a decorated General who earned his rank through his determination to weed out scourges known as thatch, fungus, crabgrass and moles. He will stop at nothing to fight these usurpers. Armed to the teeth each fall with power tools and rakes he implements his plan with the gung-ho spirit that would make any Marine sergeant proud. I, on the other hand, am just a mere draftee in this yearly skirmish. I hold up the ranks, rake in hand, pledging each year to begin taking a two-week trip to Canada each autumn.

I knew last week he was getting ready for this year's battle when he looked over his newspaper at breakfast and said in a dreamy voice, "I wonder if I should get the lawn plugged this year." Later in the day I caught him reviewing the grass with the precision of a pre-battle scout and making endless lists while sitting at the garage workbench, his seasonal war room. As he handed me a list of battle rations to pick up if I happened to be at the hardware store, not realizing that no woman happens into a hardware store, he turned to me and said, "You know honey, I really think this year I've got it figured out. My lawn will be great."

Bless him. His optimism is inspiring. Churchill would be proud. For even though his procurement list included special sprinkler heads and thatching spring blades, I knew that his perfect lawn was nothing but an elusive dream. Yes, his lawn would grow green and lush, at first. Then the mole bivouac would encamp under his velvety lawn and the gentle spring breezes would scatter crabgrass and dandelion seeds like fairy dust, while humid nights turned his lawn into a giant green fungal petri dish. But I kept quiet. Even generals need a dream.

About a week ago we ran into a friend of ours who had sold the family's home and downsized into a condominium. He had a glow about him. He eyes were shining. Was that a spring in his step? "Wow, you look great," my husband said. "How's the new place coming?" And as the sun glinted off his relaxed, tanned and smiling face (I swear even his teeth seemed whiter), he replied, "Super. I no longer have to worry about the lawn."

Well, I had best run. My general is away on business for three days and will want a full lawn update when he phones home tonight. I wonder how long it takes to have sod laid.

- Ronda Parsons

Ronda Parsons is the author of Creating Joy & Meaning for the Dementia Patient, which was published by Rowman & Littlefield in May 2015. Many of her essays have been published in newspapers and magazines. With a background in sales management in two Fortune 100 companies, she now devotes her time to the pleasure of writing.