middleblog-a suburban babble brook book

On Mowing

What is the obsession with mowing the lawn all about, anyway? Better asked, why is society so obsessed with the full, rich, closely clipped carpet of grass in front of the house?
I muse so because our own front lawn is tressed in lank dreadlocks fully thigh high, and I personally don't give a faint hot damn.  Get a goat, I advise, rent a cow, borrow a sheep or two.  At least the fine fodder would serve some ends (most importantly, mine-I could use a scrap of ... manure.).  The concept of stepping out of a sultry summer's afternoon to push a snarling, stinking, noisome machine about so that it can chew up grass without even the by-product of feeding itself is one I balk at.  I prefer the idea (someone else's) of sowing vast amounts of wildflowers and sitting, buried in my meadow, mutinously glaring in defiance of social mores. 'Ware ye the impostor among the Black Eyed Susans.