Pre-emergent

There are many things I was not at all familiar with before I became a co-homeowner. What need did I have for knowledge of what "being in escrow" meant (to be honest, I'm still miffed by that one), sump pumps, radon, lawn irrigation systems, and hardwood floor maintenance? Armed with knowledge I've gleaned from the always accurate Wikipedia, I pretend to know exactly how to prune a rose bush, eradicate fruit flies, care for delicate antiques and patch holes in the wall but all of these things I can do in the privacy of my own home without being told I'm doing it wrong by someone who is much wiser than I. That all came to a screeching halt today and I was exposed for the fraud I am by Henry, the friendly lawn man at my favorite garden center.

Here's what happened:

This spring, I decided that I would take over all of our lawn and gardening maintenance and by all of our lawn and gardening maintenance, I mean I intended on doing more than our previous maintenance plan which basically included mowing. Luckily, the Husband had no qualms with my hostile take-over of our yard work. This should have been a sign of things to come but it was not.

I was confident I could construct beautiful gardens in our backyard and have the most lush, green yard that every neighbor would envy as they drove slowly past our yard realizing they would soon come upon their own mediocre lawn and be faced with their own grassy shortcomings. Yes, I would work my magic and it would be as glorious as I had imagined. The only problem was that I had no magic. I knew nothing about lawn care and my history with plants was nothing short of murderous.

My parents got me a subscription to a local gardening publication which made me feel slightly more confident. In the February issue, there was a whole article about how to have the best lawn ever. It wasn't a terribly long article and laid out a lawn maintenance plan that seemed relatively easy. All I needed was some pre-emergent, not cut the grass too short and I was good to go. I had no idea what a pre-emergent was but I figured it wouldn't be difficult to find at the garden center so armed with my paltry understanding of pre-emergents, I headed to the garden center. It was at the garden center that I met Henry and where my lawn maintenance ineptitude was blatantly exposed.


Henry, being an older, kindly gentleman with glasses and a lot of enthusiasm for grass asked if I needed any help finding anything. I told him I'd been reading about lawn care and I was taking over our lawn maintenance this year. He told me he thought it was really wonderful I was taking such an active role in my lawn care and said that most people just throw stuff on their lawn and don't even know why they are doing it. Gulp. I tried to backpeddle saying that I just really read one article and I wasn't even really sure what it all meant so I still had a lot to learn but I really thought I needed a pre-emergent and I had a dandelion problem. Henry shook his head. Pre-emergents (much like their name implies) take care of weeds before they present themselves so my dandelions would require something else perhaps a post-emergent? Henry again shook his head and gave me the scientific name of three products that would most likely get rid of the dandelions. I was slightly bummed that Henry wasn't finding my lawn care humor very entertaining but, like I said, he was older and kindly and I wasn't going to hold his seriousness about weeds against him.

Clearly buying my lawn care expertise charade, Henry asked what type of grass I had in my yard. I looked at him thinking surely he was kidding but he was not. Sure, I can tell you the characteristics that would make a certain cow more favorable than another and can identify almost every purebred dog breed by sight but identify a type of grass? No dice. I ended up telling Henry our grass was green and not prickly. Since that didn't narrow it down for him, he informed me that Kentucky Bluegrass was really popular in the area and I probably had that. It sounded good so I went with it.

As it turns out a pre-emergent is just the beginning. Henry outlined an entire plan including fertilizer application, grub control, irrigation, seeding and winterizing that would take place over the next six months. Six months?!!?!? Multiple applications of various concoctions??!?! And I thought a pre-emergent would take care of everything. So, so naive.

In a month I will return to the garden center and seek out my man Henry and sheepishly admit that I did not commit the lawn care regime he laid out for me to memory and I, again, need to tap into his infinite wisdom of all things grass and weed related. What I thought was going to be easy-pezy is not going to be easy at all. I suggested to the Husband that he could have all of that responsibility back. He said he'd think about it and then he chuckled. I'm doomed.

Rent-A-Sheep

It has been many moons since my last post and it has all been for lack of good substance to post about. I know, I know, surely life in the plains provides plenty of good writing material, right? I mean, Laura Ingalls Wilder wrote a whole series. But alas, I've come up a little short.

It took me leaving the fine state of Kansas to bring me back to Call Me Alise with a story to tell. Whilst the Husband was traversing the globe being an international businessman, the Infant and I headed east to the land of my people: good ole Virginia. Spring in the Shenandoah Valley is one of my favorite times of year. We are spending the week with my parents, GG and Pop-pop, on the farm and upon our arrival, the fun times began to roll.

GG and Pop-pop love when the grandkiddies come for a visit and want them to get the full farming experience since all hail from wonderfully metropolitan places like Washington, DC and Kansas City (ha!). They arrange horseback riding lessons, duck feedings, rides on the tractor, chores and other fun rurally inspired activities. This visit was no different.

Shortly after arriving on the farm, the Infant and I settled in on the floor to toss around the very blocks I played with as a little whipper snapper. My parents said they had an errand to run, hopped in the pickup truck and left in a plume of dust. About 20 minutes later, they returned and said they there was a surprise waiting outside for the Infant. I hear the surprise before I see it and cannot help but laugh. There, standing on deck next to Pop-pop, was a young sheep. His name is George and he's a rental.

I may have mentioned to GG and Pop-pop that the Infant is particularly fond of his plethora of toy sheep. For some reason, we have accumulated roughly a half dozen stuffed sheep at home on the range and the Infant likes crawling around with one in each mit or wrestles them into submission. He loves them! So, GG and Pop-pop thought surely the Infant would get a kick out of a real, live sheep. They borrowed George from a neighbor up the road whose kids raise market lambs. For those of you who are familiar with the term "market lamb," do not fret: George is a family pet and is not likely bound for the auction block. In the meantime, George will remain on our farm frolicking about in the grass while the Infant squeals at him or tries to eat the grass himself. At the end of the week, our rented sheep will return to his proper home to join his wooly brethern.

P.S. The Infant may be the youngest mutton buster on the block but what he lacks in experience, he makes up for in style and charisma.