A Confession

I am a Terrible Person. There, I've said it. In the eyes of my neighbors, I've committed the most grievous sin. I have killed my lawn. I could be a wife-beating, incestuous, mass murdering, racist, neo-Nazi serial killer and lived with my neighbors in peace, but this, apparently, is unforgivable.

Yesterday, as we were returning home, ironically from a trip for gas to power the mower, a woman we have never seen before stopped her car in front of the house and asked my better half why we let our lawn go. Bless her, my wife asked why it was any of her business. I have never been prouder of the dear girl.

"Because I drive by it every day and it's an eyesore" was the response. Now please note that we live in the middle of a desert. Shrub steppe, actually, but desert is close enough. If God had intended for grass to grow here, He would have provided more than our annual average of nine inches of rain. Also note that on the other side of the woman's car is an overgrown vacant lot, currently the home of construction equipment for my neighbor's next "good idea" and that apparently caused her no pain. Ah, but I get ahead of myself. The wife's answer was a classic that shall live in family lore forevermore: "Don't look."

"Are you renters?" We've lived here for 15 years and owned it the entire time, but as my wife said, "It's none of your business." You should also know that for someone who drives by every day, she's not very observant. We've made tens of thousands of dollars worth of very visible improvements to the property and have had the same car in the driveway for ten years.

At this point the woman (I'm being polite here. The words hag, harridan, busybody, snoop, and of course, the b-word, all come more readily to mind.) indignantly told us that we were Terrible People, rolled up the window of her POC Buick and left in a huff.

Had I had more time to engage in conversation with her, I might have thanked her for noticing the "white trash" look we were going for, and let her know my plans to put an old transmission in the front yard along with a new bathtub Madonna. I could have also told her that she should be patient because the money from the basement meth lab hasn't started to kick in yet. Or, my personal favorite, I could have told her that I enjoy having the only yard in the neighborhood that can be seen from space. None of these are the truth. (Well, that last one does tickle me a bit.)

The truth is more mundane, and in large measure due to busybody neighbors like the one that accosted us. A number of years ago, when I had a wonderful lawn, my neighbors decided that our previously unincorporated neighborhood should become part of the city of Richland and voted to make that happen.

Not long after that first exercise of power, the same neighbors decided that all of our septic systems had to go because, gee, being on the city sewer system was just so much better. They voted that one in too, and here is where the story really takes off. The contractor they hired to do the job of installing the city sewer lines and hooking us up destroyed my irrigation system. The six grand that job cost, left me without any spare cash to relandscape what had been lush and green a short time before. As noted, without water, grass does not grow here and the lawn died a slow, agonizing death.

Since that time I've helped put two children through college. Between direct cash outlays and loan payments, over thirty grand has left my wallet to date, with expenditures of about $750/mo continuing until the loans are paid off. I suppose that someone who wasn't a Terrible Person would have told the kids to buck up, the lawn must come first, but I failed my neighbors and supported the kids.

The oven, stove, range hood, and even the kitchen sink have all needed to be replaced since the lawn died. A non-Terrible Person, would have sucked it up on hard tack and cold beans like a true Man-of-the-West, but I let putting food on the table come before the lawn. I have no shame.

When the hot water heater died, we could have just saved water by taking short, cold showers. Being a Terrible Person though, I let my family's comfort come before the greening of the lawn. Please, put me in the stocks and throw rotten food at me.

The washing machine also gave up the ghost somewhere in there and joined it's recently departed brother, the dryer, in appliance heaven, and darn if I didn't make the wrong choice again and let money go to their replacements rather than grass seed.

Then there was the 30th high school reunion trip, the trip to DC for a friend's wedding, or the trip to Minneapolis for the wife's step-mom's 100th birthday that a better person would have given up. Oh, and I can't forget the trip to Germany to spend a few days with our daughter. I'm a Terrible Person for giving those things a higher priority than the lawn.

I also mistakenly spent nearly two years out of town and away from the lawn. Someone who wasn't a Terrible Person might have found a way to do yardwork and avoid going when duty called me back into the Navy to command a Personnel Mobilization Team for the Global War on Terrorism.

My truck died while I was gone, and darn if I didn't spring for a used one to replace it. I didn't really need to be coming home to see my family on those weekends anyway.

I almost forgot the eleven grand for a new HVAC system this past winter. Someone who wasn't a Terrible Person would have stoically endured the cold and this summer's heat. Not me, I let my neighbors down again.

Now, adding insult to injury, my dear neighbors have once again decided that they knew best how I should spend my money and have passed another "neighborhood improvement." This time we get curb and gutter and sidewalks. Wow, how has the property ever survived the forty years since the house was built without it? Nine thousand, six hundred this time. Oh, and what if I had done the right thing and replaced the irrigation system? That's right, I'm sacrificing several feet of front yard to the new sidewalk, and would have lost the sprinklers again.

I guess the new roof will have to wait.