I walk by your place often, and I just had to stop and say something. That is one nice lawn you have. It's just beautiful. You've cut it to exactly the right length, and you've properly aerated it so it's nice and thick with no bad spots at all. And that color! Believe me, when you die and new owners move into this house people are going to notice. I don't think anyone will be able to maintain it like this.
That's fescue, isn't it? It's a good, hardy grass, but it browns easily. For you to have it thriving this early in the spring takes work. You're probably out here almost every day watering, fertilizing, putting plugs in the rough areas. It's an accomplishment. Like raising children or getting some kind of advanced degree. You'll probably flash back on this lawn in the last, terrible moments right before the icy hand of death sweeps you out of this world and turns all your triumphs into ash forever. I love the diagonal striping, by the way.
I saw you mowing the other day, and I respect the fact that you don't care for this thing with a riding mower. You'll never achieve the same precision in the corners that you can get with a good old-fashioned push machine. Plus it's a great workout. It will help keep your blood pressure down and delay a crippling stroke for as long as possible. Of course if you overdo it there's always the risk of a fatal heart attack, especially with that extra weight you have around your midsection. That's a killer for guys in their -- what are you, 62, 63? I thought so. But the point is we all face the impossible but irrefutable fact that some day we are not going to exist. At least you have this wonderful lawn to be proud of. I noticed you have a gazebo in back, right? Perfect.
It's sad to think that after you're gone some couple will be living here and letting the place go to hell while they mindlessly shuttle their kids to band practice and soccer games, all while they're subtly growing older and -- in those moments of horrible midnight lucidity -- realizing that they too will someday breathe no more, that a lawyer will be absent-mindedly sifting through their most intimate and prized possessions before putting them into one of those storage units near the highway off-ramp. It's good you won't be here to see that.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that your yard won't stop your death or my death, or even what scientists call the heat death of the universe itself -- when all matter in the cosmos is spread out in an impossibly thin and cold mixture, and all traces of the stars, planets, and every artifact of the human species has been irretrievably erased forever. But still... grass that green has to make you smile!
(Photo by Paul Frederickson. License information here.)