Crazy Crap Item #72: The part where it becomes clear that the lawn needs mowing

Due to the recent rash of lovely weather, I've been forced out of doors. I wander into the backyard, rubbing my sun-dazzled eyes and shielding my pasty skin from the sun.

In the past, I've general avoided the out-of-doors. As a still somewhat new homeowner, though, I've discovered the charm of being out where the people are with gardening. It helps that I have highly amusing neighbors, and puttering in the garden gives me the chance to learn all about cowboys and such.

And thankfully, the previous owner was quite an avid gardener, and left us a substantial stock of perennials, some of which I suspect are older than my husband. These include crazy-spotted tiger lilies, pre-historic ferns, and some wonderful vintage roses. Over the last 2 years, I've learned to augment this wilderness with carefully placed annuals and such, very few of which have immediately died, I'm surprised to report.

So this weekend, I took advantage of the sunny but temperate weather and did some major dirt-diggery. This entailed:

* a visit to the local garden store (cannily named "Gethsemane Garden Center") to purchase tons of potting soil, wee annuals and herbs

* planting a lovely new five-tiered cedar planter given to us by Roxi, which resembles a rather florid Aztec ziggurat and is now the envy of the neighborhood

* clearing new beds that were covered by flat concrete fragments and plugging in my excess abundance of annuals

* using aforesaid concrete fragments to create an attractive border for our walkway

* foraging under the porch and in a heap of dirt in the alley for many attractive chunks of rock and concrete to create a makeshift walkway in from our back gate into the alley and a rock garden in a patch of dirt by the fence.

Such duties of garden beautification are solely mine. So what, you may ask, does Eamon do? Well, naturally, he is the lawn mower. But what with the fact that spring has only just sprung, he's yet to jump in to the world lawn-mowery just yet. Which was fine, until a generous cluster of rainstorms caused our back lawn to grown in an unprecendented burst of fecundity. And then he was sick with a fever all week.

So now, as you may guess, the corn is as high as an elephant's eye in the Daly backyard.

And thus it was when, just as I was winding down my gardening duties yesterday that young James, little brother to Jack, came toddling into my backyard. He's 1 1/2 years, and freakishly advanced for his age. I think he diapers himself.

Anyhoo, this was his first solo stroll out his parents gate and through ours, and he made a beeline for me as I stood, hose in hand. Jack, amused, looked on.

A few steps into the lawn, and he froze with a look of sudden fear. He turned back to Jack, and held his hand out to him for help.

That's right. Our lawn frightened a toddler.

It's time to mow.