In the summer the combination of long hours of sun and frequent thunderstorms creates the perfect environment for my southern lawn to grow like the "Feed me, Seymour!" plant. And there are rules to cutting your lawn: too short and the scorching sun burns it, too long, and you're mowing twice a week. There's a sweet spot with the mower setting, apparently.
My neighbors to the west have a predilection to butcher their lawn to the point of burning big patches every summer. They replace it with sod, but they don't seem to learn their lesson. And I don't really care what my neighbors do with their yard, honestly. They mow their side, we mow ours.
Now, let me just take a moment to say that I am not a gardener. Nor do I particularly like lawns. I think they're a waste of water. Sure, they look pretty, but I like xeriscapes just as much and there's nary a blade of grass to be found in those.
Generally speaking, the lawns are Anthony's responsibility. I'm sore for days after I mow, but he's been traveling like a maniac and he's been sick for going on 7 days. Suffice it to say, our lawn is, well, lush.
I actually think it's quite beautiful. It's a thick, forest-green carpet, dappled with sun from the giant oak above it. Its blades sway with the breeze. Neighborhood animal flock to it, their inner lions beckoned to the deliciousness of camouflage and surprise.
The other day I found my neighbor's cat hiding in the tall Suburban Bush of my front lawn. Stalking, I presume, grasshoppers.
A couple of days pass and I'm feeling liberated in the fact that I don't care if I mow my lawn or not. Screw the neighbors. They don't know what's going on in this house, how hard I'm working to keep things running with a bed-ridden husband and a stir-crazy toddler. I am my own woman! I don't care what others think!!
Then... yesterday my neighbors whose yard is connected to mine buckled under the pressure and they did this:
Do you think anyone will notice???