Written August 21, 2025
Hello Dear Readers,
Just last week, we were sweating through a hurricane-induced heatwave. Now? I’m out mowing the lawn in a hoodie, wondering if I should’ve brought a scarf and mittens too. The weather, in its infinite flair for drama, decided to fast-forward into fall mode without so much as a polite warning.
When I started mowing, it was cold enough to make me question all my summer life choices. But after an hour of pushing the mower like it owed me money, I finally peeled off the hoodie. Two more hours of mowing later, I was borderline ready for a popsicle. Who needs a gym membership when your yard doubles as a workout arena?
Funny thing—I remember the final week of last year roasting in 100°F while my wife and I were clearing the deck like caffeinated squirrels. Yes, skiing around the house in triple-digit weather. (Don’t ask, just know it involved leaf blowers and poor life decisions.)
This summer’s been milder. Mornings are now dipping below 60°F, and we’re bracing for more of that crisp, early autumn air. The upside? Cooler temps mean slower lawn growth. I live for those rare weeks when I can skip mowing without guilt. Earlier this summer, a cold snap bought me a guilt-free mowing sabbatical. It was glorious.
But, of course, nature’s always got backup plans. Just when the grass slows down, the trees start shedding like a stressed-out cat. Leaves everywhere. My wife was out vacuuming the lawn last weekend (yes, vacuuming—welcome to modern suburban warfare) because the tree decided it was done for the year. Between the cold and the lack of rain, it’s shedding faster than last year, and I have a sneaky suspicion it’s not done yet.
She’s been the MVP of yard maintenance lately—mowing every weekend like it’s her side hustle. I was secretly hoping things would slow down for her. She works like a machine during the week and somehow still finds time to tame the wilderness behind our house every weekend.
Oh, and let’s not forget the deck drama. Our stairs broke. Why? Because some genius (bless their heart) built the original deck using a massive tree as a support beam. Great idea—until we had to cut the tree down to avoid, you know, destroying the house foundation. Surprise! No tree, no support, no stairs.
Now we’ve got a leaning fence, a wonky path, and stairs that whisper “danger” with every step. My wife is researching stair repairs like she’s prepping for a TED Talk. She suspects we’ll need a post-hole digger to do it right, and she’s even thinking of swapping the deck boards bit by bit with PVC boards. She’s not an expert—yet—but if I know her, she will be by next weekend.
Honestly, I just hope the yard doesn’t throw us another plot twist before the week’s out.
