A year or so after I bought my house, a former boss gently told me that if I didn't think I had any crazy neighbors (and I didn't) that the odds were pretty good that I was the crazy neighbor.
She's totally right.
My poor neighbors. They're the ones who have to tolerate the crazy girl who does urban agriculture, and ripped out a chunk of lawn for the purpose of putting in blackberry and raspberry plants. Who had a landscaper rip up a perfectly good section of lawn (in my defense, next to the other section) to put in a large garden. That then was surrounded with a fence system resembling Fort Knox, because damnit, the rabbits and deer were not going to win.
And now, they're neighbors to the crazy girl who just weed whacked her yard.
You see, I hate mowing the lawn. I'll handle edging, and fertilizing, and all that extra stuff, but mowing is my Waterloo. It's that combination of sweat (ironic, I know), a heavy machine to lug, and the whole small engine crap that my brain just doesn't understand.
On the upside, my father likes it, and my parents are local. So a few years ago now, when I was hitting my frustration point and sobbing to my mother about the stupid lawn mower not working again, he came over to help, ended up doing the whole thing, and offered to keep doing it.
I'm crazy, not stupid, so I agreed. In return, I give them produce from the garden when I have it, and they're willing to accept it.
At the end of last season, my father couldn't get the lawn mower to work, and I said not a problem, I'd have it serviced this spring, and all would be good.
Except silly me didn't realize that it would take six weeks or so to get serviced. Because apparently while I don't care about lawn care all that much, other reasonable people do.
Meanwhile, the yard was looking pretty atrocious. It's a sign that if it's bugging me, it's probably horrifying my neighbors. And making the house look neglected.
Not wanting to spend money on a simple reel mower (because really, what was I going to do with it, and there are other things I'd rather spend my money on), and not wanting to research and find a company to come do it -- never mind pay them -- and not wanting to deal with a mansplaining neighbor, I looked around at what I had.
I had a weed whacker.
In my head, this was a viable solution. It's used to trim around edges that the mower can't get to, and it's got a decent battery life, so why not?
The overwhelming result I got when I posted to my college's homeowners' Facebook group was along the lines of "crazy girl, don't do it." But not for good reason -- just for time reasons, and the whole idea of "It's not going to look as good."
Time, I have. And looks? I'd be happiest if I could rip out the yard and put in a giant series of raised vegetables beds (except that it would be awful for resale when that comes time). I wasn't going for perfect. Simply "This is not a wildlife refuge."
So off I went.
Totally surprised. In 45 minutes -- the length of time before the battery died on the weed whacker -- I had finished the front yard, and about half of the back. It's not perfect by any means, but it is good enough. It looks like it's been maintained (except for that remaining back half that'll get done the next time I'm home from a run or class while there's still 30 minutes of daylight left). And it doesn't look like a wildlife refuge.
Besides, let's be honest: The mansplaining neighbor practically scalps his yard when he mows. Mine is always going to look scraggly next to his.
I'm sure I looked like a drunken toddler as I was doing this. Because there I am, walking back and forth in my yard, waving this tool back and forth, and probably not making very straight lines. (Again, going for "not a refuge" instead of "perfect lawn maintenance".)
It's a good thing that there were no neighbors out, and that the son of my other neighbor only managed to walk outside just about when the battery died. (He's the one who told someone on the phone once that "the crazy lady is talking to her plants again." He already thinks I'm crazy. I figure hey, at least I'm not living with my mother.)
But you know what else? It was a damn good workout. My arms were quivering by the time the battery on the weed whacker ran out -- to the point where I could barely pick up a cracker almost 20 minutes later.
I'm not saying I'll turn to this as a sole means of maintaining the yard, but it certainly was a creative solution that actually worked!
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