Sometimes you just can't win

COLUMN: Too much time spent watching the grass grow

Leonie McKiernan


Leonie McKiernan

ride on mower woman

There is a bit of a grass obsession around our house at the moment and before you ask, that's grass of the lawn variety, not the funny stuff...we aren't that interesting.
Basically an unholy amount of chat lately is about mowing and because we live in the countryside, we also have the added bonus of hearing lots of chat about everyone else's experiences mowing, wrapping and baling.
In our house we've invested far too much time and talk, lots and lots of talk, in when to finally mow the barely tamed tapestry of weeds which we try and pass off as a lawn.
Is the ground too wet? Will the mower start? Did you buy petrol? Where did you put the strimmer line? For that matter, where did you put the strimmer? It was working fine when I used it last. You missed a spot.
You know, the usual summer arguments and accusations that make married life so special.
Family gardening is like mentioning the war or Trump, or diabolical visits to the bog to rear turf. Or maybe it's only like that in our house.
Of course our gardening is complicated by other factors, most of them related to our dog i.e. will Rascal the Wonderdog lose his mind when he hears the mower start this year or will he have manners? Will he try to eat the tyres like a homicidal maniac while the mower is parked on the lawn, minding it's own business?
Will he act like we shot his best friend for cutting the lawn around his dog house this year?
And my favourite, how many special 'gifts' will our doggy family member leave us to stand on while strimming knee deep grass overgrowth?
Aww he's like the gift that keeps on giving....and giving, and giving. A regular pooping machine. The canine answer to lawn fertilizer.
Hang on a sec this afternoon is promised middlin fine. Lock up that dog and start the mower. The time to mow is upon us!