In Quest of Grass

Having allowed the now concrete-less ground to lay fallow and our aching muscles a week to contemplate forgiveness, Sunday rolled around again and we headed to the backyard with one thought in mind: GRASS.

Please don’t abandon me here. I’m shifting the rest of this post to another page so that my dear in-laws with dial-up can still open my blog without waiting for 2 hours for the pictures to load. Go on, click on the link. You won’t regret it.


We rototilled. (The rototiller was Steve’s Valentine’s gift to Carmen…isn’t that romantic? Look, it’s even red.)


We raked.


We rocked and rolled.


The girls played in the dirt.


And ate the dirt.


And finally, on Monday afternoon, after two days of pushing dirt around and around, we layed the sod from the church office. (See, I AM working. Here you thought I just employed child labor for dirt raking, removal, and consumption.) I discovered yet another use for that odd talent that makes me such a good puzzle maker, luggage packer, and crammer of much stuff into small spaces: sod laying.


We admired the new leaves on the tree.


And our darling baby.


And then, at about 5:00, with only 2/3 of the ground sodded, we ran out of sod.


So we took a minute to water and regroup. And do some research. Turns out that the gift of grass was going to be the gift that keeps on giving. Kikuyu grass, a South African grass (fitting, I know), is termed “a noxious weed”. So noxious and invasive that a number of counties in California ban the stuff and you can’t get it unless you special order…and maybe not even then.

That left us with two choices: buy sod or buy seed. Being that we are cheap, or poor, or downwardly mobile, we rejected the sod-option (to be perfectly frank, I’m a little disillusioned by sod at the moment) and decided instead to seed. Tall fescue. That sounds elegant. Can’t you just see an English butler asking you if you’d like a tall fescue. Do you take lemon?


So, this morning, on our third consecutive day of manual labor, we picked all the sod up again and put it back into a pile. This time next to the concrete. It humanizes the concrete, don’t you think?

We raked. Again.


Okay, so I am sooo tempted to make some rather crude, but very funny comments about Devo and his seed sower, but I will refrain as we are in mixed company. <snort> I mean, I will refrain from now on. (How am I supposed to title this picture without SOME reference to what is going on?)


Adhering to aforementioned financial position, we refused to rent a roller and instead followed the time-tested tradition of jumping on grass seed to press it into the ground.


As you can see, I followed the round edges of the circle and Devo went in straight lines. I wonder what that says about us.

Apparently, in two to four weeks, we should have grass. If we remember to water it 3 times a day. And if the birds don’t eat it all first.


5 thoughts on “In Quest of Grass

  1. FOOEY. On Guam we just keep the jungle mowed and so long as it rains it keeps sort of green. Of course the grass sends up stems and seeds that are more than a nuisance. When teaching elementary school the children had about 15 minutes of recess and spent the next 30 minutes picking all the grass seeds out of their socks and pants. And administrators who didn’t take responsibility for keeping the playground mowed, couldn’t understand why we didn’t spend more time on math and reading. At one time I even threatened to bring some goats – but . . .
    Our back lawn in Duarte was donated from a conference meeting up on the I-5. After the meeting they didn’t want it so we took it. Worked fine until the boysenberry bushes began coming up all over the lawn.

    Happy back yard. – love Grandma

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