Seriously. I hate gardening. Aside from growing vegetables, the rest of it I detest. Our back yard is a case in point. Nothing we do to it has any effect on the paucity of grass. We mow. We spread seed and from time to time we dutifully resoil with that foul smelling muck the City sells but it always looks shit.
Part of the problem is bad drainage. The patch closest to our house is underlain by an old sloping driveway into what used to be a parking spot beneath the back porch. The driveway was filled in back in the day with concrete rubble which means lots of subsurface cavities. The net result is any rain or hose water that falls on that part of the lawn instantly fucks off downwards leaving a parched scrap of dead lawn that doesn’t bother even trying to growing anymore. Other parts of the lawn have been taken over by moss. Still more has been invaded, conquered and settled by a marauding army of lush, leafy weeds.
If we do pluck up the courage to take it all on, there are the doggy land mines to deal with. Nothing attracts the canine arse more than cool inch-long grass, or in our case, inch-high weeds, which are remarkably good at hiding turds. Any attempt to mow the jungle has to be preceeded by a UN-style mine clearing operation wearing protective suits and a systematic grid search for hidden poo.
My wife tells me some people enjoy gardening; they find it relaxing. Our neighbours across the road do, bless them. They’re always out tending their pristine bloody lawn, and they’ve got all the gear to throw at it. Electric weed wacker, fertilizer spreader, weed digger-upper, an edger.. the full arsenal of lawn care products. If gardening was war Point Grey would win.
