My husband and I keep our yard looking plenty spiffy, but here's a taste of affairs when I lived alone and was solely responsible for taking care of my land.
Being named after a plant hardly gave me a green thumb. My backyard gives toxic waste dumps a good name. So now I must demand of all other homeowners: Stop making me look so bad. If it weren’t for you people with your mowers, mulch, and Miracle Gro, your terrain would rival mine as the Army Corps of Engineers next target for a controlled brush fire. Instead, you insist on prancing around like Martha Stewart manicuring your land, while purists like me refuse to mess with nature.
I might start the “People for the Ethical Treatment of Plants.” The trimming, the weeding, the tilling – when will the massacre end? You should respect, not restructure or remove, living things. Take my shower curtain, for instance. I’m kind enough to let the mildew grow there as much as it wants.
Why all of you conscientious citizens want your yard perfect is beyond me anyway. My yard harkens back to the good old days when there were no polluting, earsplitting gas-powered machines and caustic weed killers and fertilizers. It was the time when more jungles populated Mother Earth. (Er, sorry, "Parent Earth"). Don't accuse me of using ecology to excuse my laziness. That's exactly what I'm doing, but still, don't.
Try it my way. By giving up the groomed look, you’ll also be giving up expense, exhaustion, sunburn, and allergic reactions. Soon then the standard for attractive yards will be the no-maintenance panorama I salute every morning: A mayhem of overgrown, unidentifiable, dried-up vegetation with an old tire thrown in.
Whoops, someone’s knocking on my door. Looks like those pesky suits from the Department of Health again.