Will the grass grow?
... and other such questions
I have been frantically watering the garden like a deranged aquaphile over the past three and a half weeks or so.
The builder sowed some grass seeds into our garden before laying our patio and gave us two express instructions: 1) Water the grass a lot 2) Do not stand on the grass. The next day he promptly dropped some heavy garden furniture onto the freshly laid topsoil. This left some sizeable divots in the ground and preventing the seeds from germinating.
Basil — the rogue cat, deceiver of men, bird killer, sofa scratcher, human bed seeker — has attempted to help. But his urination and bowel movements have had little effect, probably because he ends up digging a hole with his crafty claws to hide his bowel movements and so disturbs the grass seed, which then gets promptly eaten by various hungry birds.
Nevertheless, one perseveres, much like an-old school Jesuit missionary, before they succumbed to Modernism, the synthesis of all heresies. How did that happen, eh? (You’re veering off the subject in a rather alarming fashion — Ed)
This all comes at a cost, however. I presently estimate that our water bill for May will be just shy of £18,943. For June, I project it will break the £20,000 barrier. ***SEND DINEROS. SEND LIRA. SEND BITCOINS. SEND GOLD. ***
Added to this financial burden, there is serious physical risk.
Firstly, in order to get to the corners of the garden, I have to balance rather precariously on the raised bed/plantation box thingy that the builder constructed. My wife would like to plant potatoes and carrots in the box, or something like that. Basil, however — the rogue cat, deceiver of men, bird killer, sofa scratcher, human bed seeker — may have something to say about that (you’re repeating yourself — Ed).
Secondly, the magpies may spot my shiny wedding ring, silver chain, or diamond-encrusted Nike Air pumps and attack me.
Thirdly, while stood on the raised bed/plantation box thingy that the builder has constructed (see what I mean? — Ed) there is a danger that I could fall into our new pond and get very wet. I could then slip on the way back to the house on the patio due to having wet sandals. After falling, I could smash my skull open and have to be taken to A&E.
Fourthly, should I accidentally spray some water over to one of the neighbour's back yards, they may take serious offence if I damage some of their delicate plants, or wet one of their dogs. They could then attack me violently on the street.
This all makes one ponder. Is all this stuntman-like effort and expense worth it? Will the grass grow? There are already huge patches all over the lawn. Desert-like areas that maybe have one or two pathetic-looking blades of grass sticking out of them. What will happen when I finally summon the courage to cut the grass? Will all the grass be pulled out from its very roots by the lawnmower?
How much longer must I water the lawn? What if it gets overwhelmed by weeds? When should I try to rectify the bare parts? Needless to say, I am having many sleepless nights, wondering whether I should get up at 3 a.m. and water particular areas of the lawn, or whether I should lightly dust what grass there is with fertiliser or compost or coffee granules and chia seeds (do you know ANYTHING about gardening? — Ed).
I sometimes have half a mind to concrete the whole thing and be done with it. Erect some statues on it, like at Memento Park in Budapest — an utterly bizarre homage to the era of communist rule that the poor people of Hungary had to endure — and forget about the whole thing. (You could try that … but your wife would kill you haha!— Ed).
Anyway, I must persist. There is something soothing about looking at a green, lush lawn. I have no idea what it is. Is it the colour? I’ve read that green gives us feelings of peace and helps us to rest. It is also associated with renewal and growth. These are all sensations that we need to experience now and again. People talk about going for a walk in a park or in a green field to try and forget about their worries. Maybe that’s what grass is there for.
Or could it be the feeling of touching the grass with your hands as you sit on it? Perhaps it is something to do with the smell of cut grass. Or a combination of all these things.
Grass. A thing of wonder.
***UPDATE ALERT***
I began this Substack post a few days ago and have some updates.
My wife and I are going to get some more grass seeds and try and salvage some of the barren patches on the lawn. This is the wrong time of year to seed, according to many sages, but what the heck.
I found a dead bird in our pond. Could Basil — the rogue cat, deceiver of men, bird killer, sofa scratcher, human bed seeker — have murdered it?
There are many videos on YouTube featuring lawn experts and specialists who have a number of times on how to seed the perfect lawn. The amount of contraptions some of these lawn aficionados have is mind-boggling. I have taken none of their advice and will plough on my own path regardless of the results.
Progress report
I have actually got some writing to report. My new novella The Anchorite is at 8,220 words. I estimated that I am about halfway through it.
I continue to edit my forthcoming novel The Fragment From The Shroud.
Take it easy. And thanks for reading.
Riveting right to the end - 5 stars - can’t wait for the next instalment!