Green grass, white flag

Today, I waved the flag of surrender in the battle with my lawn. I've officially had it.

Since we moved in here in August of 2007, I've happily mowed my own lawn. I considered it the responsibility of home ownership. Even a source of pride. Call it my Midwestern upbringing, if you like, but I refused to capitulate to the calls to hire landscapers. I preferred to save the money and avoid supporting an "industry" that fuels the massive illegal immigration problem in SoCal. I regarded lawncare service as frivolous as valet parking at every restaurant and strip mall in OC. Excessive and ridiculous.

The final battle for my noble soul began in March. During an extraordinarily busy time at work, I literally worked for 34 days without a day off. And during that time frame, I once went three weeks without mowing the lawn. A few days after I finally did, I discovered we had a lawn fungus. (Although I didn't originally diagnose it as such.) A few inconspicuous brown spots in the front and side lawns soon spread virus-like across 40% of my grass. I was too oblivious to know what was happening to proactively nip it in the bud.

Once we did identify it as a fungus a few weeks later, it had a pretty aggressive foothold. We initiated chemical warfare, spraying fungicide every week or two. Turns out, lawn fungus travels on the blades of the mower. So the blob-like invasion just continued unabated. I hoed up dead grass, tried low-nitrogen fertilizer, reseeded the worst dead patches, but it's been largely to no avail.

I've become the blight of the neighborhood.

So we asked our next-door neighbors who use a service for a referral. It turns out that for a $100 a month, I can get this weight off my shoulders. Considering I charge nearly double that for an HOUR of my time, the logic of the economics became irrefutable. Jose and his crew came out at 10:00 today to relieve me from the front lines and I feel good about it.

On this side of the decision, I realize the mental toll that battle has been taking on me. On the weekends and the rare occasions during the week when I get home while the sun's still out, I'd be greeted by these ever-expanding necrotic rings and feel like an absolute failure. About a month ago when I was out mowing, my neighbor from across the street came over. He worked to get my attention since I had my iPod on and asked, with an expression between shock and disgust, "What's going on with your lawn?! We're thinking you're going to lose the whole thing!"

For the past two months, I skulk while I mow. If Golum could push a mower, I think that's what I look like. I imagine that each car that slows at the intersection in front of our house is doing so to point disdainfully at me and to tsk tsk my inability to care for a lawn. Like I'm single-handedly devaluing home prices in the neighborhood. Literally, I find myself unable to make eye contact with anyone walking on the sidewalk. Last week, a guy walked by and commented happily as I was watering a blighted section, "you know, some Miracle-Gro will help that." After weeks of self-loathing, I snapped back bitterly, "Yeah? Well, I've got a fungus!" Boo-yah, how you like me now?!

That's become my rote answer to any aspersions cast at my lawn. Some mornings I want to stand out front with a bullhorn and bellow "I WORKED 34 DAYS STRAIGHT AND NOW I HAVE A FUNGUS!"

Without context, though, I'm afraid many people wouldn't understand.

So Jose is going to play white knight for me, hopefully. He actually was here for about three hours, adjusting sprinklers and fertilizing...even after his crew had finished their work.

I've put my ego aside and hope that my pride regrows in time with my lawn.