The Rongs of Spring: This season offers plenty to gripe about
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| A rabbit enjoys the tall grass in this Annandale backyard. |
By Annandale humorist Robert Schwaninger
Now that Spring has sprung and pollen hangs in the air like
a green fog that covers cars, cats, and nasal passages with dusty abandon, we
can look forward to the blossoming of flowers, the buzz of bees, and our
neighbor cutting his grass at 6 a.m. on a Saturday. Yes, Spring, the season that has been
ill-advertised for centuries as a wonderful time is, in fact, the beginning of
challenges that break the formerly frozen ground of our senses and fall upon us
like a bag of wet mulch.
a green fog that covers cars, cats, and nasal passages with dusty abandon, we
can look forward to the blossoming of flowers, the buzz of bees, and our
neighbor cutting his grass at 6 a.m. on a Saturday. Yes, Spring, the season that has been
ill-advertised for centuries as a wonderful time is, in fact, the beginning of
challenges that break the formerly frozen ground of our senses and fall upon us
like a bag of wet mulch.
For months we have been able to cheerfully hibernate, taking
liberal naps on winter afternoons, while finding time to read books while
wrapped snugly in a warm, woolen throw. Sure there is the small inconvenience
of snowfall that might require a bit of shoveling, but compared to the endless
hours of lawn mowing that lies ahead, that cold weather shovel work is nothing.
Now our car must be cleaned because we lack the excuse of
winter slush that just makes the job fruitless. Our flower beds must now be
filled because empty boxes make us look lazy and uncaring. And our lawns should be green and lush like
our neighbor’s who is retired and must own equity in Scotts.
winter slush that just makes the job fruitless. Our flower beds must now be
filled because empty boxes make us look lazy and uncaring. And our lawns should be green and lush like
our neighbor’s who is retired and must own equity in Scotts.
It is this time of year when I develop the vilest of thoughts
about the people on the street with a lawn service. Their lawns are green and
uniform and remind me of a large patch of Velcro, all without pushing a mower
or inhaling chemicals that will likely cause me to grow an extra appendage one
day. Or the guys that plunked down two
grand for the best riding mower. Their lawn care is a mechanized pony ride in
circles around their yard.
about the people on the street with a lawn service. Their lawns are green and
uniform and remind me of a large patch of Velcro, all without pushing a mower
or inhaling chemicals that will likely cause me to grow an extra appendage one
day. Or the guys that plunked down two
grand for the best riding mower. Their lawn care is a mechanized pony ride in
circles around their yard.
As I drive past these motorized riders they smile and wave
and gun it a bit to show that they’re serious about their lawns. I wave back
and think, “if you ain’t pushin,’ you ain’t workin.’” Then I pull into my driveway
and haul out my push mower to begin to even out the various species of weeds in
my lawn, making sure that the foxtail, crabgrass, and chickweed are trimmed to
the same height as the 20 percent of lawn that is actual grass.
and gun it a bit to show that they’re serious about their lawns. I wave back
and think, “if you ain’t pushin,’ you ain’t workin.’” Then I pull into my driveway
and haul out my push mower to begin to even out the various species of weeds in
my lawn, making sure that the foxtail, crabgrass, and chickweed are trimmed to
the same height as the 20 percent of lawn that is actual grass.
While not battling Mother Nature in the name of slavery to
suburban conformity, we find that there is no escape from bushels of chores by
retreating indoors. Some fool came up with the idea of “spring cleaning” as
though we hadn’t lifted bucket or rag since October. But for reasons that bear
no explanation, this is another ritualistic trap into which we allow ourselves
to fall. Soon we are on our knees scrubbing floors and high on ladders taking a
home run swing at cobwebs.
suburban conformity, we find that there is no escape from bushels of chores by
retreating indoors. Some fool came up with the idea of “spring cleaning” as
though we hadn’t lifted bucket or rag since October. But for reasons that bear
no explanation, this is another ritualistic trap into which we allow ourselves
to fall. Soon we are on our knees scrubbing floors and high on ladders taking a
home run swing at cobwebs.
It is then when a family member notes that which would have
been best left ignored. They will say something like, “now that we can open the
windows, we should paint.” I am among those
persons who hate to paint. Paint has no structural use that I can see. Paint
adds no value to the house. Paint is drudgery in a can and requires moving
furniture, using drop cloths, and being yelled at for wearing the wrong pants
to start the job.
been best left ignored. They will say something like, “now that we can open the
windows, we should paint.” I am among those
persons who hate to paint. Paint has no structural use that I can see. Paint
adds no value to the house. Paint is drudgery in a can and requires moving
furniture, using drop cloths, and being yelled at for wearing the wrong pants
to start the job.
And don’t get me started on raking fallen seeds, pulling
weeds, filling the birdbath, cutting the ivy, planting tomatoes, power washing
the deck, staining the fence and the endless battle with every twisting, thorny
vine that the Commonwealth can grow. Topped off with my annual case of poison
ivy.
weeds, filling the birdbath, cutting the ivy, planting tomatoes, power washing
the deck, staining the fence and the endless battle with every twisting, thorny
vine that the Commonwealth can grow. Topped off with my annual case of poison
ivy.
Ah Spring! A time of growth. A time of renewal. A time to
refill my supply of Claritin and Ben-Gay.
refill my supply of Claritin and Ben-Gay.
