Gardening made me the grumpy old man on my block
My childhood neighbor would be so proud
I scowled outside at the birds, having the times of their lives stabbing the grass. I hate organic fertilizer. The birds and rabbits are enjoying our lawn and bringing friends over, social isolation be damned. And all I keep thinking about is how long the grass will grow with them in it, eating up all the garden treatment. I’m going back to good old-fashioned traditional fertilizer and weed removal. Going green is too stressful.
Then came the tenant who was determined to let her kids run in the grass. With every step they run — regardless of the condo association bylaws — I wince, thinking of how long it’s going to take for grass to grow if it’s getting trampled over all the time. And they leave popsicle plastic behind. The audacity. Even after lecturing the parents to stop letting the kids play in the grass, I came outside on Friday and the same couple put their lawn chairs in the lawn — and brought friends. When I said, “Please don’t sit in the grass,” I didn’t mean go get a lawn chair to sit higher up in the same grass.
I never expected to be in my 30s and invested in grass. How one goes from having a black thumb for 36 of her 38 years to standing in Home Depot for an hour, reading the backs of all the fertilizer and weed removal bottles, is beyond comprehension. I thought I was fancy for keeping an arrowhead plant alive on my coffee table, but never did I ever humor the idea of guarding an actual garden.