A year and a half ago, we gutted and reno’d my mum’s rancher-style house. She now has a one bedroom plus den suite at one end and we have the other end. It’s a fantastic situation which we are eternally grateful for, as it has us living in a beautiful home in a wonderful neighbourhood for the cost of a condo. It’s also great for my mum as she was getting nervous about managing the entire property herself, not to mention she’s now right next door to her grandkids!
With this beautiful home comes a big, beautiful yard. Landscaping took a backseat to the hard core renos, so we’re still in the process of getting the yard the way we want it. We pretty much split the yard to our side/her side, and on our side of the front yard is a fairly sizable lawn.
This lawn was my dad’s nemesis. New seed, new sod, nothing seemed to produce the lush, gorgeous lawn he dreamed of. Some of my clearest memories as a child are of “helping” my dad mow the lawn. He would be out there all summer, tirelessly mowing, watering, mowing again.
His lawn was a bloody golf course compared to the pitiful patchy mess I gaze out on each day. Months of excavators, garbage bins and dump trucks decimated the once mediocre lawn to a mud pit full of rocks and various chunks of debris.
We have since had it cleaned up, soiled and re-seeded. With one of the mildest winters on record, we actually have some growth showing through. Patchy growth. Very, very patchy. This is partially due to poor drainage and partially due to our municipality digging up the seeded area along the edge to replace the curb without telling us. I recently reseeded the patchiest areas, and am patiently waiting for my little seeds to take root. I got out there today with our sparkly new manual lawnmower to mow the new growth. I felt absolutely ridiculous. There is probably more patch than there is lawn, but there I was mowing away.
I had the little man out there with me as I worked and I was struck by the parallels with my own childhood. My dad left us with so many blessings and wonderful memories when he passed away almost eight years ago, but I haven’t felt this close to him in ages. I feel that I owe it to him to make this lawn beautiful, come hell or high water. I will put my heart and soul into it, just as he did.
Our lawn will be lush and full by the end of the summer, mark my words. It will bend to my will, flourish under my love and nurturing. It WILL grow and it WILL be beautiful.
This lawn will be my bitch.