An Open Letter to My Lawn

Dear Lawn,

I know that we’ve had some issues in the past and I realize that an open letter may not be the best way to reach out to you.  You may be upset that I’m airing our grievances to the world as opposed to how we’ve traditionally dealt with things (you lying there silently, me cursing at you from behind the lawnmower.)  Obviously we can’t continue on like this, our relationship simply won’t last if things don’t change.

Maybe I’ve upset you by not paying enough attention to you or by allowing my dog to consistently poop on you.   But let’s be fair here, you haven’t exactly been holding up your end either.   You’re patchy, weedy and brown.   There, I said it.  It’s out in the open now. 

I’ve tried all the things that I’m supposed to do: water, fertilizer, seeding, regular mowing and yet you lay there, not putting any effort in.   In fact, whenever I try to make things work, your response as of late is to burst out in dandelions, like a pubescent14 year old sprouting new zits every day.

You aren’t lush, you aren’t green or verdant or bursting with health or vitality.  You accept the gift of new grass seed and burp back weeds.   You take all the water and respond with brown patches.  You don’t deserve me. I didn’t want it to come to this, but yes, my eyes have strayed.   Instead of gazing at you with love and adoration, I find myself leering at gravel or wood chips or concrete.   You simply aren’t the lawn that I fell in love with.

I know I shouldn’t compare us with other couples, but when I see my neighbors happily mowing, leaving fresh lawn clippings in their wake (instead of clouds of dust and bits of dandelion leaves) I feel ashamed of you and don’t want to be seen with you anymore.  I’m tired of people thinking that I’m with you only because of your great personality.

There is a movement going on that suggests that we do away with lawns altogether and replace them with vegetable gardens.   “Grow food, not lawns” is their motto.  I think this is a laudable idea but unfortunately for me, if I can’t grow a simple stem of grass, I’m not going to have much luck growing something that people can actually eat.   My potatoes would probably come out looking and tasting like a lump of coal.     My carrots would probably resemble straw and as for cucumbers and zucchini, I’m not confident enough as a man to grow unfavorable vegetable comparisons.

So lawn, you browning, dandelion spewing harlot, this is your last chance.  Either you start to grow properly or I will be forced (and believe me, I hate to do this) to write yet another firm letter, stamp my feet in futility and look longingly at the neighbor’s patch of perfect green and spin murderous fantasies borne of jealousy.  It doesn’t help things when my neighbor frowns in mock sympathy and says things like, “Got a few weeds there huh?”  Gentleman that I am, I never say anything against your honor and it’s for your sake that I fling the stray cat poop over onto his lawn.  I do that for you.   In fact, I do it all for you.   I can’t keep ignoring those flirty looks from the gravel.