Like most men in this great nation of ours, I have a love/hate relationship with my yard. I love the way it looks toward the end of the spring after all the hours spent in hard labor. I simply hate logging all the long hours laboring at it.

Each year, at this time, most men and women across the country begin to visualize new projects, gardening ideas, additions, subtractions, and various changes for the yard. Seeds or plants are purchased. Rakes and shovels are dusted and prepared for duty. The tools of the trade are readied for battle as these landscape leaders take to the field of battle.

Like all men, preparing for the battle of the green, I have a commanding officer. This “Filed” Martial, if you will, is Mrs. CXXC. And like General Douglas Macarthur, my commander makes her chain of command pay off. Also, not unlike Macarthur’s West Point essay on how to erect a flag pole (He simply wrote on the paper, “Sgt. Erect a flag pole”. No more, no less) my orders are to move this mountain or redirect that river. Like all good soldiers, I salute and say, “Sir, YES SIR!”

As the dawn breaks early Saturday morning, I, along with my fellow neighboring soldiers, tour the battle field, with coffee in hand, before the first salvo is lobbed. Our uniforms consist of jeans that should have been tossed in the trash long ago with holes more numerous than a sponge. T-shirts with outdated logos or sayings too vulgar to wear in general public, boots, sweaty old baseball caps and possibley sun glasses. No matter the age, nearly every man on my block looks like a frat brother.

I look across this expanse of property and wonder, “What the hell did I want a larger lot for?” Sipping my coffee, on my front lawn, I hear similar grumble and laments form neighboring members of my street. All, good men and true, we head to our garages, sheds or carports for the necessary tools, equipment and arsenal with which to do battle.

The list of lawn and garden tools that I happen to own it HUGE! Power tools line the walls! Gas powered hedger, gas powered trimmer, gas powered leafe blower with vacuum attachment/bag, gas powered tiller, gas powered chain saw, gas powered EVERYTHING! Yes, there are a few relics in the corners that are corded electric items, but, the pile of spliced and shredded extension cords will attest, gas is the better way to go!

No matter how grand the list, no matter how well supplied, no matter how greatly armed I am for any given battle of the green, I have yet to see a project start without a trip to Home Depot or Lowes. In fact, I am of the opinion that if you do not make at least one trip to your friendly neighborhood hardware store for each project, you did not complete the project. The more trips, the more complete the project. So after taking stock of my arsenal, I immediately rush to Home Depot. (I love the store. Mrs. CXXC refuses to ever enter one. That is another story all together.)

Now, as any self respecting yard soldier will tell you, no trip to home depot would be complete without first getting a cup of the free coffee from the contractor’s desk. It is our way of getting something back from the company which has taken so much from us. We mingle among other weekend worriers sipping cups of Joe while discussing the probability of rain or which fertilizer to use in the first application. You can always spot the newbie in the group as they stand on the fringe with their ears piqued for the sage wisdom of the assembled fighting men of the green. As the early morning passes to mid morning, purchases are made, ideas are shared, questions are asked and answered but the task at hand becomes more pressing so off to battle we go.

As I pull into my drive, I look throughout my yard in the hopes that the work has already been done and a sign is posted upon the hedge clearly stating, “KILLROY WAS HERE!” I see no such sign. I receive no such relief. With a determination and purpose, I gather my new tool(s) and head to my shed to prepare for the inevitable. The BATTLE IS AT HAND! But I need another cup of coffee first. And another tour of the field should be made in the event I missed something. As I march to the command canteen (kitchen) I pause at the door to listen for anyone doing battle. It is the calm before the storm. Should the commander (Wife) hear others engaged in battle at this time, I would most certainly be ordered back out to the field without coffee.

One last tour is made. The sun is higher in the sky. The morning is slipping into noon. I hear off in the distance, the roar of an engine. The battle has begun. Another motor joins what will soon be a cacophony of 2 stroke engines putting and belching throughout the neighborhood. I set my coffee mug on the stoop. I pull my gloves over my fingers. Pick up my rake and march forth. Let the battle begin! Spring has sprung and I need to beat Mother Nature back into submission!

The battle is wrought with pit falls, trials and tribulations. Like all good soldiers, I press on until, at long last, both the task at hand is complete and the sun begins to set. I walk the battle field to surmise the casualties. What ground did I win or lose? As I lean against my vehicle, pleased with my efforts and the view, the commander peaks her head from the door and asks, “Why did you………?”

“What the fuck? Over!”

And another battle is planned for the next Saturday! This soldier is off to the OC (Fridge) for a cold beer and a shower.

Stay tuned for the next installment:

Build your own shed! Easy, cheap and MAKE SURE YOU PUT IT WHERE YOU REALLY WANTED TO!