When Spring Forgets It’s Spring (and My Lawn Forgets Its Manners)

Written 04/08/2025

Hello, Dear Readers,

Ah, Nashville. The only place where you can sip iced tea on the porch one day and contemplate lighting the fireplace the next. This week has been a bit of a rollercoaster—weather-wise, that is. One moment we were basking in spring-like sunshine, and the next, the temperature nosedived, flirting with frostbite. On the bright side, no tornado warnings or thunderous chaos today—just a brisk chill and a confused lawn behaving like it’s late May.

Thanks to a cocktail of warm days and buckets of rain, our grass—and its less welcome cousin, the weeds—had a growth spurt. They clearly got the wrong seasonal memo. I swear, our yard is acting like it’s auditioning for The Secret Garden reboot.

Meanwhile, the birds have declared our backyard the brunch spot of the season. Robins, sparrows, maybe a few freeloading grackles—all pecking around like they’re foraging for truffles. They might be after the worms surfacing from the soggy ground or the random berries our backyard insists on producing. Whatever it is, the backyards become a feathered frenzy.

As for me, I had one noble mission today: taming the jungle. Lawn-mowing season has officially begun.

Normally, I wait until the day warms up a bit before stepping outside—especially on mornings that feel more like winter’s encore than spring’s overture. But today, I got an early start. The backlog from last week’s storms and rain had left our lawn looking more like a meadow, and I needed to catch up.

And catch up I did—until both of our large mower batteries tapped out. I was surprised by how much ground I covered and equally surprised by how much still remained. I had grand ambitions, but alas, when the batteries say they’re done, it’s nature’s way of saying, “Time for a break.”

Not too long ago, mowing this much would have wiped me out for the day. Back then, our mower was… let’s call it “modest.” My wife and I would tag-team the yard whenever time (and energy) allowed. Then came the upgrade: five years ago, we invested in a proper mower—a real game-changer. Thanks to that and my regular workouts, I now have the stamina to mow for hours without turning into a puddle of regret.

Fun fact: my wife used to mow nearly an acre of land back in Canada. With a push mower. Not electric. Not gas-powered. Just pure muscle. Every week. For four hours. Apparently, Canadian grass is better behaved and less aggressive than ours—but still, that’s some serious yard cred. She says mowing was great exercise, and oddly enough, she even enjoyed it. (Remind me to ask her again in July.)

Today, I managed to tackle about half the yard. Not bad, considering the battery drama and the early chill. If the weather behaves, I’m hoping to wrap things up on Thursday. Maybe I’ll sneak in a few strips tomorrow after my run, just to lighten the load.

Until then, the lawn can enjoy its semi-groomed half-makeover. It’s a work in progress—just like spring in Tennessee.

Leaf It to Me: Adventures in Yard Work

Written March 23, 2025

Hello Dear Readers,

This morning, I found myself engaged in a rare and noble quest: yard work. Not my usual weekend ritual, mind you. I typically leave the gardening to people with a stronger back and a greener thumb. But alas, when you live on a hill, gravity, and nature team up like villains in a buddy cop movie—always ready to make things harder than they need to be.

Now, our yard has a bit of a wild streak. If left alone, it doesn’t just grow—it plots. One year, we made the rookie mistake of letting the ivy do its thing. “It’ll look charming,” we said. “Like an English cottage!” What we got instead was a full-on plant invasion. The ivy crept up the side of our house like it was trying to break in. And since the exterior isn’t fully bricked, my wife was convinced it would start dismantling our home from the foundation up. We ended up yanking it off the wall like it owed us money and then spent the rest of the day cleaning up its leafy aftermath. Never again.

This week, my wife decided it was time to bring order to the front yard. She had asked me earlier to vacuum—yes, vacuum—the leaves from the front yard so she could tame some decorative plants that had begun asserting their independence. I agreed, of course, then promptly forgot. Saturday came and went in a blur of other tasks. Classic.

Luckily, the weather today was cooperative. My weather app promised rain… just not yet. So I suited up and got to it. Leaf vacuum in hand, I tackled the neglected zone while my wife charged in later with a weedwhacker, swinging it like a hedge-knight with a hedge-trimming sword. She’s been clearing weeds too—methodically, heroically, like she’s one step away from turning the whole place into a botanical museum.

Now, my wife is a loyal reader of Eat That Frog! by Brian Tracy. She’s constantly organizing, scheduling, and maximizing productivity. However, she claims she struggles with “putting things away,” though I think the real issue is her to-do list has more pages than War and Peace. When she blames herself for not getting everything done, I remind her we’re human, not calendar apps with arms.

Ironically, it was her beloved frog book that nudged me into action today. One of its golden rules? Don’t put off the tough stuff. So next time I’m assigned an oddball task, I’ll let my phone remember for me. Set a reminder. No excuses.

Because if you’re going to eat the frog, you may as well season it and serve it hot.