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A yard is not a lawn
I've never been quite certain what we're supposed to do with them. Those who have lawns and spend time next to the house, out near the grass, usually do so in a designated area, like a deck, or on a brick path or standing on a nicely landscaped patio.
They stand, staring at the sea of green. "My, my, Tad, old bean," they comment. "What an impressive lawn! What on earth do you feed it?"
While Tad drinks in the compliment and dishes out his lawn success tips, neither he nor Connor (nor their wives, Muffy and Tish) will actually step on the grass.
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Grass that gets stepped on, rolled on, played on and worn out is called a yard. That's a whole different thing. If you own a swing set, a car on blocks, or a dog, you have a yard.
I get the "yard."
What I don't get is the "lawn."
We keep the grass around our farmhouse mowed not because we want to appear on the cover of Greener Lawns Magazine, but because we do not want wild animals staring into our windows. With no high weeds in which to hide, deer, coyotes and those pesky rhinoceroses stick to their side of the farm.
At least that's the theory.
No one is going to stand, staring at our grass, inquiring as to how we keep the dandelions at bay. I've never had to field questions about what kind of food I use on my lawn. That's because we don't have a lawn. We have a yard. We don't feed it anything. It's grass and weeds. As a matter of fact, if it stands still long enough, it will become food, because we have horses.
Around here, the grass has to be quick to survive.
Yard people like us plant new grass only when something gets dug up in the yard. Let's say, perhaps, a new septic system is installed or a friend offers to give backhoe lessons (never, never pass up the chance to learn new skills).
The guy at Wal-Mart asked what kind of grass seed I wanted to buy. I informed him I was in search of the cheap kind, the kind that people plant when they want to grow a yard (not a lawn). As I followed the thousand-word instructions on the back of the bag, it occurred to me that here I was, planting grass, while not more than four feet away, my wife was spraying Round-Up to kill grass in her flowerbed.
Kind of makes you think.
It often grows where you don't need it and never appears where it can be of some use. I think of that nearly every time I visit the barbershop, but that's a different column for another day.
If the new grass seed sprouts, I'm going to step on it.
Why?
Because I have a yard.
To hear Scott Paulsen's column, visit www.observer-reporter.com. He can be heard each weekday afternoon from 3-7 p.m. on 1250 ESPN Radio.
Lovin' The Grass! : 7/2/2009
I loved this article. You sound just like my mother ... meet Virginia. All the kids in the neighborhood still play in her "yard".
