Is That GGG Trying to Mow Her Lawn Again?!?

Almost, but not quite. While some of you may think I bear some off-the-wall resemblance to Prince Harry (see picture), I assure you that I am not any blood relation, haha... HOWEVER!! That is almost the appropriate gear to don when attempting to do yardwork at my house these days.

Now let me just set the record straight: I do not live in a rural area. Granted, the town in which I live has a high ratio of farmers/rednecks:normal human beings, but I do live in a bona fide subdivision within incorporated city limits. That being said, I simply have the thickest, most dense St. Augustine grass in the south and it laughs at me when I crank up my lawnmower. It scoffs at my naive attempts to manage or manicure my property.

Two weeks ago, as I stand in the mid-90 degree, 75% humity-infused, central Texas heat, trying for a solid 10 minutes to crank my buggared, old green lawnmower, I nearly had a stroke from the effort it took just to crank the darned thing. I had run out of gas after mowing the front yard and had made one pass around the back when it gave out. Once it was filled up with about $3.50 worth of gas, I went through the aforementioned cranking ordeal and then had a breakdown: "NOOOOOOO!!!! I don't have to take the abuse any longer!!" I walked away from the monster, leaving it in the backyard and marched to Lowe's to buy a fancy-schmancy new lawnmower. She's candy-apple red, with an electric start AND a manual crank. I feel like I just bought a Corvette! (It should've come with leather hand grips for what I paid for it, but that's a totally different story. Just as you should NEVER go grocery shopping when you're hungry, NEVER, EVER, EVER go shopping for major appliances or power tools within 24 hours of your old one claiming victory over you -- it's not pretty... But I digress...)

Fast-forward to today. I have given up precious time at the gym to get back to my lawn, which is tall and out of control. It's too thick to let it go so long, and the poor Corvette/lawnmower kept gagging on all the clippings. Mulching blades are apparently a mixed blessing. As I looked back on the side yard just after mowing it, it looked as if there was green snow on the yard. Silly me, I think, "Maybe if I put the bag on it and go back over it all, it will suck up the clippings into the bag, kinda like a vaccuum for your yard!" Girls, apparently this is something that boys are figuring out while we're watching the period film in the 4th grade: lawnmowers are not, in fact, vaccuums for your yard. I had to hand-scoop this miniscule stuff into the dang bag.

Then, to add insult to injury, just as I get into my Amazonian back yard and make that initial pass around the edge of the yard -- mind you, the same stretch done two weeks ago, while the center 80% of the yard has gone unruly and untouched for three weeks and is now practically halfway up Bud's legs, still rests unscathed -- it begins to rain, and I mean pour. The gardener in me is thankful for the rain, but the homeowner in me wants to throw a grade-one FIT!!

So if any of you should catch me skulking about in the backyard all camo'd up and low crawling, I'm probably just venturing out to either find my children or tend my garden...

Don't Be Such A Titmouse!

He he he, the "Beavis" in me just has to come out every now and then...

I have discovered, after working in the front yard this morning, that we have yet more birds nesting with us! This family must be really well-to-do if the height of their penthouse view is any indicator. Also, the exclusivity of the front porch is a strong argument, as there are almost no other places that could possibly house any nests. Luke and Laura Titmouse (I can't quite discern what specific breed they are, but they are tufted like a titmouse, although their beaks are longer and their coloration is mainly grey) obviously like to entertain. They have wild, swinging parties at the birdbath below their nest, as evidenced by the birds swooping and bathing around my front porch and flowerbed.



John and Marsha watched cautiously from a distance today as the kids and I planted our garden this morning. I think they understand that we're not going to mess with them, but John is still keeping a watchful eye on us, telling Marsha to just "calm down, he's got everything under control!"

Rex and Chyna were nowhere to be found, undoubtedly sleeping off last night's partying or something. Their crazy, unkempt nest has huge twigs and long strands of St. Augustine runners hanging down. They are starting to be a blight on the neighborhood, and I, as the President of the Birdie Homeowner's Association, may have to issue a citation for them to maintain their home a little better.

We're Expecting!

HAHAHA!!! Gotcha!! Bet you thought something serious was going down here at the hacienda... Good grief, what kind of girl do you think I am?!?

No, really, new life is always something to rejoice about at my house. I remember last summer when we had some rather snitty Mockingbird parents that were highly offended that we chose to use our inflatable pool in the backyard (heaven forbid) because it came within a country mile of their nest. I don't remember if we actually saw the babies in the nest, but I do remember a plump youngster who was probably the last of his graduating class to learn how to fly. He hung out on our backporch for the better part of a day or two. I wanted so desperately to put him back in the nest so he could have a "do-over," but I knew that if I touched him and he had my scent, the mother would have nothing to do with him. (Women can be so testy...)

This year the birds have gotten smart. They have upgraded from nesting in our vertical twigs young trees and are now nesting in tiny box-like places at the top of some brick columns where the roof goes over the porch. Whomever said that animals were dumb obviously didn't know birds. These nests are completely inaccessible to any land-locked creature. The only possible intruders to these penthouses are other birds (highly unlikely), nosy homeowners (such as yours truly), and the occasional bug or spider. Most of my spiders are gargantuan and terrifying big enough and predatory enough that they prefer to be on the ground or along the walls near where the bugs hang out. Their cozy little nests stay dry and warm in the unpredictable Central Texas spring weather.

After careful searching, I have discerned that we are awaiting five baby finches, Cannin's Finches to be exact. The parents look like a scrappy sort, but they have the most amazing song! It sort of reminds me of how judgmental we can be of the way people look, especially those claiming to be musicians. Then they go and open their mouths or pick up an instrument and everyone's jaws drop and we all stand there, astounded that such amazing things just came out of something that looks like that!

But I digress. It really touched my heart today, looking out my kitchen window at John and Marsha Finch (hey, they've become part of my everyday interactions -- they're completely personified to me already). Marsha sits dutifully on her eggs all.day.long. You know her birdie butt's gotta be tired. And while John gets to flit and flut all over the neighborhood, hanging out with his birdie buddies, I watched him come back to her and "feed her" some lunch, Chinese takeout and watermelon or some such pregnancy combo, I'm sure. As I stood there watching him take such sweet care of his mate, I must've moved or something because John caught me voyeurizing his loving display, and he copped a 'tude about it! He was immediately defensive of Marsha, and he turned around, moving his head this way and that, trying to size me up, thinking, "I could take her! She may be 500 times my size, but I could whip her ass!" It was so awesome.

And I guess there's a housing boom in the bird community as well, because I noticed today that John and Marsha now have neighbors. Rex and Chyna Mockingbird have moved in two columns down, and they are some gnarly thrashers from what I can tell. They are the obnoxious, punk rock neighbors -- their nest is being constructed of these massive twigs that won't even fit down in the box-like area, and they have thorns all over them because they are from some mesquite trees! Man! Poor Chyna's gonna have some serious hemorhhoid action from warming those puppies... And heaven forbid they use the other two nests from last year that I left up in the trees that were previously occupied by the other mockingbird families. Guess everyone wants a new ride these days...

Keeping up with the "Joneses" is a nice distraction from everything else going on these days. Hopefully the cigars will be coming out soon for John and Marsha! I'll keep you posted!

Carpal Tunnel Lawnmower

Mowing a lawn isn't supposed to hurt this bad. I'm only 31 -- this is as healthy and fit as I'll ever be!!

I have spent the better part of the last week "springifying" my yard and garden. I have worked like a man and weeded, hauled soil and compost, mowed, and am getting ready to plant my garden and fertilize my yard. Rather than basking in the soft glow of a Central Texas sunset with a co'beer in one hand, looking out as the successful master of my domain, I feel like I've got arthritis already!

I'm actually quite proud of myself. I have prepared my soil and selected my plants in preparation to enjoy more homemade salsa and fresh herbs for my ventures into Italian cooking. My garden yielded a great harvest last year, so here's hoping my green thumb hasn't turned gangrenous and rotted off yet.

As for the lawn, it's been mown and mulched and after tomorrow, will be properly fertilized. I have this sickening obsession with having the most awesome yard in the neighborhood. The main reasons why I care are twofold:

1) There are several widows and single women of all ages living on my street. 100% of them, except for yours truly, has a lawn service taking care of their lawn. We all have sprinkler systems, so they basically have lawns that survive (I won't really say thrive) with little to no interaction on their part. I take pride in the fact that I do all of it myself with no assistance and no childcare. It's just a part of being a homeowner, and I take massive satisfaction and pride in knowing I'm not only doing it, but doing it well.

2) The majority of lawns that are maintained by the owners are done by the man living there, and of course, they all seem to know what they're doing, and their lawns are always green, mown, and look great. I've declared an unofficial war on the men -- I want to have a lawn that even the guys are envious of and even would assume that a man is taking care of. Take that!

Let me take a minute to throw something spiritual in here: one of the biggest struggles with sin that I have is with pride. I am uber-competetive, to a fault, and oftentimes my pride is what fuels this characteristic. I have never before taken the time to properly care for my lawn, so I'm trying to use my competetive nature as motivation to be more consistent without letting pride gain a foothold here. Isn't it irritating when the Holy Spirit gets you all convicted over yard work?!?

I had to get all of my outdoorsy responsibilities checked off my list before this weekend, as I enter my third semester of Parish Lay Ministry Academy. To figure out just what the heck I'm talking about, take a peek. I am officially halfway through my training and on the down-hill stretch. If I can just pin down my internship project and get that monster under way, I'll be money. (Boy, is THAT a whole other blog...)

Here's to spring and being a better steward of my little piece of dirt...

**The evil lawnmower picture was snarfed from a fellow blogspot site called Toon Club.