Fighting through the Jungle

A person's lawn says a lot about them. The kitsch gnomes in the front lawn. Old cars rusting up along the side of the house. Expensive roses or flowers planted in fancy patterns throughout. In Ukraine, lawns did not exist. After all, what is the purpose of lawns? You can't grow anything on them. Dog poop is not appreciated on them. What are they but a waste of good land?

The lawn connected to the house in which I now live has seen better days. When I returned to the states on December 16th, the leaves from early October had soaked into the green grass. Apples were still rotting amongst the leaves and the tops of the trees had become so jungle like, having not been pruned for over two years.

This morning, I decided to take on the backyard jungle to which I am geographically attached. It was up to me, the youngest of the tenants at this address, to fight this rabid jungle.

I moved to the back of the property first, raking up the leaves by the back three apple trees. It wasn't as easy as would have been when the leaves first fell for now the ground was sopping wet and the leaves had engrained themselves in the mud. My dad's cow was staring at me as I raked and belted out the words to Breakin' Dishes. I'm sure he must have been shocked to see a woman out in the back, seeing as how my mother takes no serious interest in the going-ons of the "BBJ Ranch".

With a few blisters on my fingers, I headed over to the main part of the back lawn near the walnut and filbert trees. I had only established five medium sized piles when I lost all interest. Fun was definitely not a part of raking a rain soaked lawn.

I have always considered myself to be an adventure woman, but today's events have led me to think that perhaps my delicate hands aren't cut out for manual labor and that perhaps I truly need to find myself a real job.