Gardening made me the grumpy old man on my block
By: Shamontiel L. Vaughn
Tags: Humor, Gardening, Storytelling, Green Thumb, Plants

Tales from a grumpy new gardener

Gardening made me the grumpy old man on my block

My childhood neighbor would be so proud

Photo credit: Paul Streltsov/Unsplash

I scowled outside at the birds, having the times of their lives stabbing the grass. I hate organic fertilizer. The birds and rabbits are enjoying our lawn and bringing friends over, social isolation be damned. And all I keep thinking about is how long the grass will grow with them in it, eating up all the garden treatment. I’m going back to good old-fashioned traditional fertilizer and weed removal. I know I guest-write for Earth & Me, but going green is too stressful.

Then came the tenant who was determined to let her kids run in the grass. With every step they run — regardless of the condo association bylaws — I wince, thinking of how long it’s going to take for grass to grow if it’s getting trampled over all the time. And they leave popsicle plastic behind. The audacity. Even after lecturing the parents to stop letting the kids play in the grass, I came outside on Friday and the same couple put their lawn chairs in the lawn — and brought friends. When I said, “Please don’t sit in the grass,” I didn’t mean go get a lawn chair to sit higher up in the same grass.

I never expected to be in my 30s and invested in grass. How one goes from having a black thumb for 36 of her 38 years to standing in Home Depot for an hour, reading the backs of all the fertilizer and weed removal bottles, is beyond comprehension. I thought I was fancy for keeping an arrowhead plant alive on my coffee table, but never did I ever humor the idea of guarding an actual garden.

Somehow, some way, I’ve become my childhood best friend’s grandfather — the guy who lived next door and mowed one foot of the grass on his side of our gate, along with his entire yard. (Imagine how goofy it looked to have uncut grass on our side, but one foot of it neatly trimmed.) I’ve become the person who mumbles, “Don’t you see the sidewalk!” whenever some maniac cuts through the grass to leave the building. I’ve become the person who tests out garden hoses to find out their weight — and knows to wear clothing that I can prepare to be drenched by sprinkler water. And as much as I hate to admit it, if I see people standing outside the condo too long, I ponder on whether I should go get the sprinklers and turn them on “high” to get them to move to the next building.

My grandfather, another gardener who grew enough fruits and vegetables in his backyard to the point of never really needing grocery store produce sections, got along splendidly with our crabby neighbor. I had to respect the man because he was my friend’s grandfather, and of course because my parents would’ve yanked me up by neck for being disrespectful. But never in my life did I expect that hiring gardeners and then getting involved in the garden would turn me into this duo.

I stare in the mirror every day, waiting for a beard to grow in or to start buying flannel shirts and khaki vests — or even worse, for me to start uncontrollably pointing my finger and yelling at kids. (Right now I’m only lecturing adults.) I already have the floppy hat to keep the sun out of my eyes while I size up Hostas and Echinacea purpurea magnus and Diervilla Kodiak Orange plants, wondering if they’re really in the right spot for Chicago’s heat.

And I catch myself mentally staring at the amount of hardwood mulch and compost, to make sure it still looks as neat as when it was first installed. My grandfather and my neighbor (who have passed on) would be so proud to see I joined their Grumpy Gardener crew. Meanwhile I’m wondering why 2020 has turned me into someone I don’t recognize. Don’t judge me though, unless you’re prepared for my water hose, locked and ready to spray at a moment’s notice. And I’m not scared of you crazy kids either!