Lawns and Neighbors — the Good, the Bad, the Bizarre

 Ours is one of those streets where lawns  are an Important Reflection of One’s  Character. I remember a college class on  Religion and Economics in which we were reading The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism. It was explained that early Protestants believed that evidence of wealth was evidence of being chosen by God to be blessed. I guess everyone on Pleasant Street is a Calvinist and their lawns are the proof of their selection –combined, their lawn expenses equal the gross national product of Montenegro.

The street does not get off to a scenic start — the first house on the street is ramshackle, missing windows, peeling paint, old boxes and discarded household items piled up outside. But the lawn is perfection. The homeowner has his property completely relandscaped about every three years: new bushes, plants, pavers on the walkway, water feature. The Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde of property maintenance.

Across the street from Dr. Jekyl is a house that belongs to a very bad do-it-yourselfer. In a Typhonean moment, the homeowner created a long and winding garden border out of stone and lots and lots of mortar. Mortar leaks between each stone in a hellish ooze of hardened lava. It drips across the walkway in rough hard mounds. It sticks to the handrails made worse by the haphazard painting of Rustoleum over it. The home owner is often seen standing quietly in his yard staring at his creation. Last summer he hired landscapers to beautify his lawn. They attempted to tear down the border with a pneumatic drill but were stopped by the owner, running from his house waving his hands madly. They worked around it, planting the kind of ivy that spreads fast.

In contrast to these oddities, the adjacent houses are Norman Rockwell perfect. Ingound sprinkler systems, tidy fences, manicured lawns, contolled beds of color coordinated flowers. Unlike most of the neighbors, these homeowners do the yardwork themselves — at least the menfolk do — the women are usually pregnant and supervising. Large families means lots of yard labor –in the Fall I can witness fleets of children bagging leaves.

These neighbors are good neighbors too. In the winter they have often plowed our property even before we wake up. Once when we were away for vacation there was a huge blizzard. We were wondering how we would ever get into the driveway. We arrived to find the driveway shoveled, the walkway clear — everything precise and lovely. Those neighbors are definitely going on the express train to Heaven.

Diagnonally across from our house is Mr. OCD — you can set your clock by his yard work schedule. Every evening from April through November he starts at 5:00 trimming, mowing, weeding, pruning, scissoring, planting. His grass is precision cut. He trims the edges with scissors. He paints his house every three years. He has a different door wreath for each month and at Christmas he hangs pine wreathes from every window and illuminates his house with spotlights. We have lived across the street for twenty years and he has only spoken to me once — when our tree was hit by lightening and fell into the yard next door missing the new construction by about two inches. He said “Well, that was  something” and went indoors.

At the end of the street is the renegade neighbor — the guy who enjoy stirring up the pot. His yard is a mess of weeds and random plantings, accented with a small flock of pink flamingos. The stone stairs leading to his front door were crumbling until he fixed them himself. It was quite clear he got his “how to” advice from the guy with the pryroclastic flow border. The renegade reigned supreme for a long time until a new house was built on the last open lot. The new owners painted it livid purple — I am sure it can be seen from space. But, indeed, the lawn is perfect.

Our house is the comforting “somewhere in the middle” house. The perfectionist neighbors don’t hate us and the oddball and renegade neighbors don’t think we are buying in to the whole Stepford thing. My husband loves those big ceramic pots with colorful enamel glaze. We have lots of them. When it gets a touch warmer we will fill them with plants and flowers. Right now they look like a line of Napoleonic soldiers on their return from Russia (i.e., not so good). I am pumping (pardon the pun) for one of those solar driven bird bath fountains — we would be the first on the block and it would drive the neighbors insane with jealousy.