So far Recon has a great disposition. If he’s got any fault it’s that he likes people too much. Still, with his breeding, I have to wonder whether he might revert to form some day by herding a group of people into a circle and laying waste to them. I’m not sure what made me think about that. Maybe it’s a function of growing older that I have to have something to worry about.
In any event, we’re into early spring here. The spring flowers and shrubs have sprung, the trees are starting to get buds, and the grass is starting to green up. That’s not to say it’s been an easy spring. There has been a pattern of a few warm days followed by a cold snap. It’s driving gardeners nuts.
They even have names around here for the cold snaps. There’s blackberry winter for a cold snap that occurs when blackberries bloom and dogwood winter for one that happens when the dogwoods bloom. We’ve been through those already. In fact, we’re running out of blooming berries to identify the cold snaps. My vote for the next ones are dingleberry winter, crunchberry winter (named after Captain Crunch cereal) and Beriberi winter (named after the disease).
Because the grass is starting to turn green and grow, I couldn’t help but notice that our front lawn—and I’m using the word “lawn” very generously—has developed small crop circles about the size of a saucer. I was pretty excited about it because I thought it meant I was being visited by tiny aliens. Then Meredith explained to me that the circles of brown grass are probably where Recon has peed. Boy, was I disappointed. Tiny aliens are much more interesting that urinating dogs in my book.
It never occurred to me that dog piss has herbicidal qualities. What the hell is that dog peeing? Agent Orange? Muriatic Acid? I now know why people take dogs for walks. It’s so they’ll pee on someone else’s grass.
Truthfully, I’m really not that upset having a polka dotted lawn. It’s not like anyone can see our “lawn.” Our nearest neighbor is a quarter mile away, and his lawn is nothing to get excited about. The truth is that there aren’t that many lawns in Fannin County that you would put in Home and Gardens.
And that’s a good thing. It’s one of the great things about living in Appalachia. Half the people around here don’t even have lawns because they live on mountain tops. They have no real soil to speak of, and they are surrounded by trees that block the sunlight. Their yards consist of rocks, moss and scraggly plants. Don’t knock it. You never have to mow, water or fertilize lichen.
There is another percentage of the local population who let their goats run loose in the front yard and think that a dozen rusting cars and old washing machines constitutes yard art. The only thing needed to compete the picture is a blind albino kid on the porch playing the banjo. A nice lawn is not exactly high on their priority list.
Then there are the retirees who, like me, really don’t give a rat’s ass what their front yard looks like as long as they don’t have to care for it. It’s not like the Pope is going to visit me and be critical of my yard maintenance. Hey, at least I don’t have goats crapping all over the yard. Instead, I have a dog that pees Roundup.
What I’m saying is that most people around here don’t live in neat, orderly subdivisions, and lawns do not have the totem status they have in suburbia. And I would guess that’s the way most people like it around here. It’s probably one of the many reasons why people bail out of suburbia to move here. After all, it’s not hard to keep up with the Joneses when the Joneses don’t want to be in the race. It’s also not hard to keep up with the Joneses when you don’t give a damn.
So while you’re admiring your well-groomed, neatly manicured lawn, I’m going to be sitting in a lawn chair in the weeds (and the strange little crop circles) admiring a wonderful view of the mountains.
