“God’s Job”

For the first six years we lived in the house, I blithely declared that watering the grass was “God’s job.” I wouldn’t waste the water, couldn’t spend my time on moving the sprinkler every 20 minutes every night, etc. etc. etc. Then we had that really hot summer two years ago and the lawn got scorched. On top of that we were treating for ants and our most yard-knowledgeable neighbor told us that the grass died because the company was treating the perimeter of the house during the heat of the afternoon. We fired them and hired some new folks out of Flint. They sent The Most Awesome Gardner Guy of All Time who took us on as a side job, paraded around without a shirt, plenty of body tattoo art, and a 50 Shades of Grey charmer of a smile.

I’ve posted before on our lawn care dilemmas here in mid-Michigan.

In any case, he replanted grass on most of the lawn and he did some substantially expensive work on the neglected rock gardens (Is that an oxymoron or what?) and it does look loads better. Then he let us down easy by backpedaling his way out of our personal employ and the 45-minute commute to our place after the company opened a branch in Lansing. Now we just have competent guys who show up and do their jobs. Is complex and beautifully designed body art really so much to ask for over my morning coffee? Ommm, don’t answer that.

In any case, I’ve learned that growing up is more than just owning a home, having a job that’s actually part of a career, and a relationship where you know the other person’s taste in art and which kinds of Christmas gifts will cause a fight.

It’s more than caring whether your lawn looks good.

It’s caring if the guy taking care of your lawn looks good. Meow.