From the Editor's Desk: The grass is greener

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I have too much clover in it. Small patches that threaten to overtake the healthy portions of it practically under my nose.

If I didn’t know how to get rid of the clover, I would have no worries. But several of my acquaintances know all about how to get rid of clover. And they know how to beautify lawns.

They’ve told me. Over and over.

When I lived in Meridian years ago, I had a neighbor that lived for his lawn. He didn’t work. He lived on a disability and spent a lot of time (I guess) wondering how to make other people’s lawns as good as his.

He was a frequent visitor. He would ramble over after dinner and then look at my lawn and shake his head.

“Oh, you’ve got way too much clover in there. And cinch bugs too,” he’d say.

At first I would be concerned. After all, I wanted a great lawn like everyone else in the subdivision. They had great lawns.

Why shouldn’t I? I quickly became smitten by the lawn-beautification competition that worms its subtle way into the souls of all subdivision home owners.

So I bought 2-4-D and sprayed and bought the right kind of stuff to kill lawn critters and put it on my lawn, and, for a while, it prospered.

Then a typical Treasure Valley July arrived. And no matter how much water I put on my lawn, it developed dead patches.

I blamed the heat, my neighbor blamed my incompetence with lawn care and the kids just wanted to know why Dad was out on the lawn after dark spraying weird stuff on it.

I told them it was to make the grass grow and for them to go to bed.

Anyway, I developed a post-traumatic lawn care guilt complex that I brought here when I moved over to be editor.

No matter what happens, what the fiscal situation in my house is, I’m always sensitive to the look of my lawn. It comes in waves. Some summers it doesn’t bother me as much. Others, it is terrible.

I want to buy all the fertilizer and ironite and other lawn care products I can find and pour the stuff on my front lawn. The front is key because that is the piece everyone sees.

So I will stand out on the front porch at night when I should really be worrying about something major — like President Barack Obama or the economy — and shake my head at my lawn. Out there, it defies me. Mocks me.

I have a nice plum tree out front that is growing. And we have shrubs and roses that do quite well. But the lawn isn’t as vibrant as it has been in the past.

And, every so often, one of my neighbors drives by and glances at my lawn, and I feel a stab of guilt. Yes, I think, that’s my lawn you are looking at. And, yes, I’m killing it.

The other day, a relative came by. Someone must have tipped this relative off because after he glanced at the lawn, he tried to smile at me as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“Ok, ok, yes, I know I have too much clover in my lawn, so what? Are you the lawn police?” I demanded.

He seemed genuinely surprised.

“I didn’t even notice,” he said.

Which, of course, meant he had taken in every individual blade of grass and evaluated it. When we did bring up the lawn, he was straightforward.

“Maybe less baseball game-watching and more lawn care would help?”

Right off, I remembered why I hated him.

One of my neighbors across the street has the right idea. He has rock in his front yard. Rock and more rock. No grass. No one gives his front yard a second glance.

Somehow he has gained a free pass. I think that’s unfair.

So, you can complain about the paper, even complain about our stance or our look.

Just don’t mention the lawn, please. I’m going to get to it. Just as soon as the Mariners game is over.

Pat Caldwell is the editor of the Argus Observer. He can be contacted at PatC@argusobserver.com