You Don’t Say: Yard work? Meh. Gardening is where I’d rather spend my time

Feeling a bit bored recently, I did the math and I discovered I’ve mowed the lawn almost 700 times in my life. Keep in mind this only takes into account mowing done as an adult, there have been some non-mowing years in there while living in apartments and homes in more natural settings.

At the suggestion of my neighbor, Dave, I crunched the numbers a bit more, and determined this averages out to approximately 2,800 miles of walking back and forth. Thinking about pushing a lawn mower from here to California caused me to zone out for a few minutes. When I regained my senses, I thought to myself: “There’s a story in there somewhere.”

I began my lawn mowing career as a kid the first year we hit California. My parents rented a little seafoam green mid-century house. It sat on a lot containing its twin, and a rundown old trailer home along the fence line at the back of the property. Our house had a large backyard featuring a clothesline, two almond trees, a fig tree and the aforementioned trailer.

It was June when we moved in and the place had been empty for a while, so the yard was a jungle. It was in this crucible of Southern California summer heat, foot-high Bermuda grass and goat head stickers, that I was inducted into the great society of suburban males. I would be 8 in a couple of months and, apparently, it was my time.

My father conducted the solemn suburbanite rite, introducing me to the tool which was to become my boon companion for decades to come – a gas-powered lawn mower. This one had been borrowed from a neighbor especially for the occasion. Many oaths were sworn, vows made, and admonitions given having to do with keeping hands and feet away from that sharp thing spinning at high speed beneath the deck of the mower. Each of us saying a prayer, Dad headed inside for a cold one, and I began my journey to manhood.

The next house we rented came with an old Sears rotary push mower, and an even older gas mower. For obvious reasons I gravitated to the gas-powered job. Before long, not only was I mowing our lawn, but I began dragging that old mower and a rake around the neighborhood soliciting business. I did pretty well with my fledgling entrepreneurial effort and, on any given day, probably had more cash money in my pocket than my father. Everything went along swimmingly until the old mower broke down, then it was back to the Sears rotary and only mowing our yard.

A couple of the houses we lived in after that didn’t have established yards, mostly weed patches, dirt, and those old goat head stickers. We eventually moved to Porterville, a small town in the Central Valley. This house was brand new so, working with my father, I learned how to establish a lawn from scratch. Being Dichondra, it was pretty easy to maintain. It was the three English walnut trees on the property which kept us busy year-round. It seemed there was never a season those trees weren’t dropping stuff all over the yard for me to rake up. The only upside to all this work were the sacks of walnuts we harvested each year and sold to the local co-op. This was to be the last single family home I lived in until buying my first house at the age of 26.

Given this background, it shouldn’t come as any surprise I’ve decided I really don’t care all that much for yard work. The word itself tells you right up front what it’s all about: WORK! And, like housework, it never ends; as soon as you’ve finished, it’s time to start again. No thanks!

What I do enjoy is gardening. You know, planting bulbs and flowers, transplanting shrubbery, that sort of thing. While mowing and raking tire me out, gardening is energizing. I’m more present in the moment, and feel a part of nature as I dig and plant. The English poet and artist, Minnie Aumonier, wrote: “When the world wearies and society fails to satisfy, there is always the garden.”

The world definitely wearied and society failed to satisfy this past year, so in addition to the usual mowing, I gardened … a bunch. I created a new landscape plan for my large corner lot as part of an effort to increase my home’s curb appeal, and make my property easier to maintain. It was a lot of fun to work on, and I managed to deconstruct two large planting areas in my front yard. Hundreds of daffodils, lilies and other bulbs were either transplanted or shared with neighbors. I even traded Siberian bearded Iris rhizomes for some beautiful scarlet cannas I’d admired for years at the home of my neighbors Ellen and Don. The cannas came all the way from the Texas home of Don’s favorite aunt.

The irises, gladioli and lilies have been planted in several locations, and the daffodils will now grace the corner embankment along the road. I’m already planning to add more varieties next fall. It should be a truly orchidaceous display of color from spring until late fall this year, and those scarlet cannas will be the crown jewels!

Ms. Aumonier wrote quite a bit about gardening. Another of her quotes on the subject is: “Gardening simply does not allow one to be mentally old, because too many hopes and dreams are yet to be realized.” Well, that certainly sounds good, and I hope it actually works out that way. At any rate, I’m currently dreaming of seeing the results of all my efforts come spring. Mowing? Not so much.