It happens every spring.
The yard comes alive just as the snow melts and the jackets and gloves are stored away for another six months.
But it also means there is just more stuff to do.
Mowing, feeding, weeding, vegetable garden, pruning. And so on.
And so on.
I do love this time of year and while we aren’t sitting on that big of a lot – about a third of an acre – it feels like maintaining the grounds around the White House sometimes.
And then there is the pressure.
I drive the kids to school and I notice people already with wet sidewalks from early morning sprinklers. I see my neighbors mowing. More sprinklers. Gardeners treating and trimming up and down the street.
Meanwhile, our yard looks like an overgrown jungle ignored by uncaring homeowners. (And because of an unseasonably warm spring so far, there are already weeds. Dammit.)
The pressure feels like the middle of winter after a big snow storm and you look up and down the street and you see everyone else has already shoveled. Shit. We gotta get out there!
I’m really not a (Keeping Up With The) “Jones” follower and could care less when new cars liter driveways or you see people in January with a Hawaiian tan flaunting themselves to the mailbox – but there is something about the beginning of the season and the pressure to make sure our yard doesn’t look the worst on the block.
And maybe it’s just me but it seems we start earlier and earlier every year. I remember when we first moved to Idaho we didn’t start any watering, mowing, gardening until May. Now our irrigation water is turned on in late March and my
overzealous neighbors were out there before St. Patrick’s Day. Oh, for Gawd’s sake, stop showing off.
This seasonal gardening/yard work thing was one of the highlights of moving out of Southern California with their “I’m going to plant tomatoes” in the middle of December and mowing took place 52 weeks, sometimes more, every single year. Exhausting.
One more day.
I have to drive by houses that are already mowed and green and weed-free with sprinklers going for one more day.
Because on Saturday we will feed and mow and water too.
And be like everyone else.
And in the middle of summer no one will be the wiser that we were the last to join the “It’s Spring!” bandwagon.
I’m already tired.