Turf Wars

Spring is sprung, the grass is riz… I wonder where my husband is?! Oh right. The GRASS. That means he’s outside. Obsessing. Some men attack spring with a battle plan. My husband has joined their ranks. He is currently waging war against formidable enemies: white grubs and ants. These insolent beasts are messing with his lawn and he is NOT happy. The grubs are an unfortunate fact of life. Each year, after the snow melts, we wearily emerge, shedding our winter layers and heading out, blinking and shielding our eyes, into the sun – only to be deafened by the continual munching sound of lawn after suburban lawn becoming an all you can eat buffet. Once the grubs have overflowed their plates with the roots of our grass, along come the raccoons and skunks to overturn the dirt and feast on the grubs. As Pumbaa would say, “Slimy, yet satisfying.” As my husband would say, “Circle of Life my ASS!” There’s not much that can be done, other than growing new grass. So, he lugs home carloads of black soil and grass seed and patiently begins rebuilding. Each day, he’s out there misting and coaxing and straining to see every new blade as it emerges. But, rather than celebrate the rebirth, he is taken aback by the curious areas that don’t sprout. “Say hello to my little friends” – all 118,273,987,932 of them. ANTS! The audacity! Pushing their hills up through his newly strewn soil and seed. Just who do they think they are?! Off we go to Walmart. We (well, HE) must conquer. We read the labels on every powder, spray, liquid, bait and contraption known to man. He doesn’t want BAIT. He doesn’t want TRAP. He will be satisfied with nothing less than ANNIHILATE. Except that our suburb has regulated the use of pesticides. So, we brought home powder that’s supposed to be a deterrent. “Supposed to be” are the key words there, by the way. He sprinkled and dusted and coated like a maniac, all the while imagining those ants screaming and recoiling at his superiority. The next morning, every single ant hill was back. I swear I saw a few “Screw you, Buddy!” flags on top of ‘em too. Ten years ago, my husband couldn’t have cared less about a nice lawn. Grass was just something you had to cut. Now, he’s taken to the Internet to research. He commiserates with other men, flexing their muscles, sharing their secrets to triumph over their own little “Axis of Evil”… grubs, ants and the rodentia that threaten their “Victory Gardens.” He hunches over the keyboard, muttering and musing, creating a grocery list that includes sugar, cornstarch, cayenne pepper and cornmeal … and he’s asking questions like, “Do we have Borax?” Ummm… remind me to start making my own tea at night… just to be on the safe side.