My idea of a good time is sitting under the awning of my motorhome, checking out the view and tinkling the ice cubes in my glass.
In the suburbs, the idea of a good time is using up every spare minute of your weekend taking care of your lawn.
If you live in the suburbs you gotta have a good lawn. It’s expected. Unfortunately, even though I live in the suburb, I’m not a good lawn guy. I don’t want to go out there and mow and cut and weed and aerate and fertilize and apply all those chemicals.
Sure, it would be nice to have having a lush, well manicured expanse of green around the house – one that’s the envy of all the area’s golf course owners. But a dream lawn like that takes time and expense – and I’m not inclined to spend either on my lawn.
So it grows as it will. Wild, crazy and full of all kinds of unrecognizable growth. I don’t usually cut it until the neighbours start gathering in front of the house at dusk, standing silently, torches flickering. OK, OK, I’ll cut it. Don’t they realize that my lawnmower still needs a tuneup?
Some parts of my yard have a little moss. Actually, so much moss that there isn’t a blade of grass to be seen anywhere. Maybe I can buy some concrete pagodas and turn the area into a Japanese garden.
No, I really don’t want to look after the lawn. That’s one reason I like RV parks. Some of them are rustic. I like that. Some of them have lawns. I like that too. But there, someone else looks after it. Not me. Hooray!
We once had a nice suburban home. Bought it brand spanking new. Had the landscapers put the back yard together. Our favourite neighbour came over and asked, “Why do you always go away in your trailer on the weekends? If you like your trailer so much, why don’t you sell your home?” So we did. Smartest thing I ever did.
But did I learn anything? Nope. Here we are back in the suburbs again. Nothing wrong with that. Except for the lawn. So what should I do? Maybe find a new owner for the place. Someone who owns a tuned-up, turbo-charged, automatic-shift lawnmower, who loves to use all those brushes, combs, and clippers necessary to tame those unruly blades of grass. Someone knowledgable about the contents of those bags of… stuff that has to be spread out over the lawn using those whirly-bladed doo-dads. Someone who sees it as a life-enhancing challenge to take on those strange leafy things that keep popping up out of the ground.
Then, maybe, I’ll go ask my neighbour, the one with the lawn straight out of Architectural Digest, if I can park my motorhome in his driveway and stay awhile.