“I Do Not Know the Reason Why My…”
He was always complaining. The weather was a favorite topic of his. He complained if it was hot, it was too hot. If it was cold, it was too cold. If it was dry, it was too dry. If it was wet and rainy, it was too wet and rainy. He complained about the wind, or the lack thereof. He would complain about snow, fog, frost, ice, humidity, mud, dust, or whatever else he could come up with that was somehow (even remotely) weather related. He did not like any of it.
He, also, complained about politics, the price of things that he needed to buy, the church he attended, the preacher/pastor, the traffic on the highways, the noise made by children while playing, his wife’s snoring, his in-laws, the doctor, the hospital, any and all restaurants, the newspaper, and on and on. It did not seem as though anything or anyone was pleasing and/or acceptable to him. It was a puzzle (still is, as a matter of fact) as to how/why his lovely wife would choose to be married to such a negative, pessimistic, sarcastic, grumpy, grouchy, and… (whatever other descriptive word one can come up with) person. Needless to say, he was not the type of person one wanted to be around for very long periods of time. To be perfectly honest, if I saw him heading my direction I, if possible, would go the opposite way as quickly as possible. A conversation with him could absolutely spoil a whole day.
He made it very clear that one of his least favorite things to do was to tend to his lawn. He hated, with a passion, to mow his grass. In fact, he could easily spend an hour listing all of the things that he despised about mowing from lawnmower to edge-trimmers to weed-whackers to dandelions to clover blossoms to whatever else came into his mind.
Unfortunately, he lived just down the street from me. Therefore, it was not always easy to avoid him.
One afternoon, in the early spring season, he told me of his plans for an upcoming vacation trip for his wife and him. They were leaving the next morning and would be gone for about a week and a half. In preparation, he had just finished his yard-work in hopes it would suffice for the time of the vacation. Of course, I had to listen to a whole litany of his complaints about the just finished tasks and his dismal expectations for the journey ahead. I was delighted to see him head back down the street towards his house. That was the best part of the encounter.
Somewhere, along about 3:00 AM the next morning, while I lay sleepless in my bed, reflecting upon the conversation of the previous afternoon, I decided my course of action. After determining that indeed he was gone on his trip, I went down to the hardware/farmer’s supply store and purchased 100 pounds of fertilizer, with all of the right minerals, guaranteed to make grass grow. I waited until the middle of the following night to begin my efforts, lest I be seen by some nosey neighbor or by-passer. I retrieved the fertilizer and my spreader from the garage and sneaked down to his house. For the next hour I covered his lawn, very carefully, with fertilizer. When I finished, I hurried home. I told no one what I had done.
Thankfully, it rained for three days in a row following my escapade. I marveled at how quickly his lawn turned a healthy shade of green. His grass grew rapidly, and the turf really got thick. Upon his return, he found the grass in his lawn to be almost knee-high and dark green and healthy looking. Almost every other lawn in the neighborhood appeared to be malnourished and sickly, compared to his.
Well, it goes without saying, he had to mow once or twice a week the whole summer just to keep it under control. In addition, he had to sweep/rake the lawn each time he mowed it just to be able to keep the dried thatch from piling up. He spend hours consumed by this chore.
I came across him one day in the parking lot of the local post office. With my tongue firmly planted in my cheek I commented on the beauty of his lawn and the frequency that he seemed to be mowing. In response to my comments, said “I do not know the reason why my grass is growing like it is. I hate to mow! But dad-gum-it, if I don’t mow it every day or two it just gets too big to do anything with. If I did not know better, I’d swear somebody must have fertilized it or something.” In response, I just nodded my head, got in my truck and silently drove away.