Enter the Yard Warrior

Today, I cut the grass in my backyard with a weed-whacker. It's not my preferred method, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Lawn care in the South is just not the same as it is in Southern California. In Socal, you do have to cut your grass...if you water it. There's a lot more effort that goes into making grass grow than there is in dealing with it once (if) if gets long. In Georgia, if you haven't mowed your lawn at least once by the end of April, you go from being the hunter to the hunted.

And when you do mow the lawn on your postage stamp lot in Southern California, it takes longer to dig the machine out of your garage and gas it up than it does to actually cut the grass. Since the front and back yards are each likely to be smaller than the largest room in your house, it's kind of like outdoor vacuuming. A riding mower in Los Angeles is about as useful as a snowmobile.

I suppose that's why so many SoCal people opt to do away with the yard altogether. A few brick pavers, and you have a perma-patio. No fuss, no muss.

I mean no offense to the many Angelinos who make their living as gardeners, but in the words of Dire Straits' Mark Knopfler, "That ain't workin'.... That's the way you do it.... Money for nothin'...." (That's about where the anology ends, though. The "chicks" in L.A. are anything but free...unless, of course, you do actually play your guitar on the MTV. But that's another discussion altogether.)

In the South, it's not about coaxing things out of the ground; it's about fending off an invasion. Take a Southerner to Los Angeles, and they will stare wide-eyed at the kudzu that's used as landscaping. Last year in the Carolinas alone, kudzu claimed 3 children, 4 cows, and a Volkswagen Beetle.

If you do fall behind, it can be downright frightening. I knew that the backyard badly needed to be cut, but I didn't get to it before going on vacation. When we returned, it looked like someone had planted wheat. I'll never again sing "America, the Beautiful" without thinking of my own little field.

Of course, in the week we were gone, the front yard got a little rowdy too, so I had to deal with that first. After all, everyone can see the front. The only folks who know the true dilapidated state of my back yard are the neighbors and whomever they complain to. "It didn't bother me at first. He can make a mess of his backyard if he wants to. But when the aliens come to make their crop circles, it's so loud that we don't get any sleep."

And when the 11:00 news led off with a story about a Bigfoot sighting at my address, I knew I had to take action. Since my little push mower was not up to the task, and I don't own a combine, I had to get out there with the weed-whacker.

Truth be told, though, I'd rather spend an hour in my yard with the weed-whacker than 15 minutes with a broom.