Tuesday, April 12, 2005


I set the mower deck lower to try to cut off the offending heads of the dandelions, but they hunkered down below the grass, waiting until I'd passed by to pop back up. I spent hours grooming our now emerald green lawn, riding around on our mower, but surveyed the results with satisfaction. The next morning, from my window I could see a sea of yellow flowers, and that some had had the audacity to turn to seed.

As I cut, I wondered why this obsession with having a cut lawn. As I sit on the mower I think what a waste, of gas and time. I have read that perhaps it is a leftover instinct from our African ancestors, my own savannah where I can see enemies approaching because the grass is not too high. It keeps trees from sprouting in unwanted areas. More importantly, it keeps the neighbors happy. There is some sense of satisfaction in completing the task. A job well done, a bit of control over my own little world.

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