I’m a tactile person. I like to touch things. Actually, I need to touch. I walk through the store with one hand poised to stroke whatever towel, blouse, or jacket catches my eye. I caress my daughter’s silky hair dozens of times during the day, and I simply cannot resist the tenderness of a baby’s satiny toes. In the summertime, I love to walk barefoot outside. I savor the roughness of the brick walkway and the tingling heat of the smooth driveway. But, the best part is that last joyful leap onto the lush, green grass of my front lawn.
Two years ago, our home was under construction and our lawn was a filthy dust bowl. A constant irritant to the eyes and nose, the dirt swirled around on the barest of breezes and clung to your feet, following you into the house where it would deposit itself on every surface. Daily cleaning could not remove this unwelcome guest from my floors, counters, and fabrics. As soon as the last construction truck roared off around the corner, and against the advice of my patient landscaper, we had a new lawn put in immediately. It was a bit late to start, but I couldn’t stand the grime a moment longer. We splurged and had sprinklers installed. It was a happy time.
The first pale green blades were met with joyful smiles and tender words of encouragement. The tiny blades multiplied and covered my lawn within two weeks. I nurtured them lovingly with carefully controlled watering—a gentle mist enveloping each supple sprout every afternoon.
Then, the unthinkable happened. Just as the all-knowing landscape professional had predicted, weeds began to insinuate themselves into my perfect new lawn. I tried spraying them with weed killer. I made a valiant attempt one hot July afternoon to yank them up by the roots with my bare hands. My fingernails all broke and the weeds were back the next day. Nothing worked. The invaders were tough. They were strong and they were many. My fledgling grass succumbed.
It was a difficult setback, but the next fall, I gathered up my courage and my shaken pride and tried again. This time, the lawn gods were with me. The weather was perfect. The weeds were weak from the long summer and could not survive the wreckage of the churning Bobcat. My fledgling lawn sprung up with optimism and promise once again.
