Originally, I was going to title this “My Neighbors Hate Me,” but that felt clickbait-y, so I went with something more explanatory.
My grandfather always had the nicest lawn. Lush, green, well-watered, and tender, with no pine needles or burgeoning thistles to stab the soles of your feet.
My dad always envied my grandfather’s lawn — the lawn outside of the house where I grew up was largely clover, but my dad always did his best to keep it nicely mown and green. From a distance, it looked pretty much like grass.
My partner Tim and I have a tiny house in South Dakota (not an actual Tiny House, just a very small regular house), and this house has a lawn. A lawn that, for years, Tim struggled to keep mown at my insistence, going over it a couple times a year with that Scott’s four-step stuff that costs so much money. It got to the point where the lawn was largely green-ish, and some of it was even real grass.
Still, we don’t have a built-in sprinkler system, or even a hose-attachment sprinkler, and can’t afford (or don’t care to budget) the hundreds of dollars that would be tacked onto our water bill with a regular lawn-watering regimen. (Plus, it seems kind of wasteful, but that’s another talk for another day.)
When the pandemic hit in spring of 2020, we didn’t make the trip to the hardware store for the expensive Scott’s lawn stuff. And… we didn’t this spring, either. Our lawn is now 99% weeds — thistles, clover, crabgrass, something else with white flowers that look like little morning glories and smell like lemon and vanilla. Oh, and some mint and oregano that have crept over the years out of my herb garden.
Anyway, when temperatures here hit 90+ degrees Fahrenheit and we go for weeks without rain, our crappy little lawn inevitably turns brown and crispy and dies.
And I used to feel guilty about it. I used to feel shame. Not because I am responsible for the death of the 2% of our lawn that was actual grass, and not because I cared at all about having a nice-looking lawn. But because I knew I was being perceived as a massive failure of a human being. Because I felt like I was letting down generations of my family.
But since then, I have realized several things. I have realized that the neighbors do not, in fact, hate me. I have realized that I am not letting my family down with my dead and weedy lawn, at least not in a way that matters. And I have realized that I do not have the time, money, energy, or passion to put into engineering and maintaining a really nice lawn made of grass.
Instead of using that time, energy, money, and passion on my lawn, I have used it to grow my business, spend time developing meaningful relationships, and allowing myself to rest when I need to. I do not have to prioritize things I do not want to prioritize.
Neglecting the lawn has turned into something that feels like freedom, and I love it. Plus, when Tim mows, thanks to the oregano, it smells like pizza.
Words & warmth,
Sarah