Grass Warfare

It’s understandable that people believe I, as a city dweller, have little to no appreciation for grass. Too bad it isn’t true. I’ll admit that my relationship with grass is a complicated one. Complicated by the fact that I don’t see much of it anymore. However, I remember. Boy do I remember. 

I am not someone who approves of all types of grass. What I like is freshly cut grass. The humbling act of mowing does a whole lot of good for yards and homeowners everywhere. I don’t want it too short. Golf courses should not be emulated by the general population. I happen to give the Saudis a break when it came to their foray into the stupid little game with tiny balls. Why would I do such a thing? Because they don’t have much grass where they come from. Sand doesn’t stir up the same emotions as a verdant expanse of rolling green.  

Here's where things get tricky. Some heat-addled brains may have forgotten the havoc wrought by snow each year, but I haven’t. I like snow. I like the way it looks. I like the way it falls. I like almost everything about it, including its ability to disrupt entire communities at the drop of a flake. What I don’t like is when it melts across suburban yards and muddy blades of grass begin to peek through. 

Like many Americans, I prefer strict binaries only. Coffee or tea. Baseball or soccer. And yes, grass or snow. I can't hold both thoughts, these dueling emotions together. There's a time for grass and a time for snow, much like food courses or seasons. When they mix, we're lost. You don't add ice cream to a burger and think everything is will be fine.