Tell Me Why I Am Mowing The Grass In The Winter

Could someone please tell me why I am mowing the grass in the winter?! The exclamation point after the question mark signifies that I am yelling this question silently at the top of my lungs. Unless you are a dog whisperer like Caesar, you probably wouldn’t pick up on my subtle humor with your natural ears, so I thought I’d use a couple sentences of this post to over-explain the not-so-obvious… and completely unnecessary.

Usually I don’t care about the weather all that much. My wife, on the other hand, studies it like her life depends on it. I jokingly call her Doppler 3000, (I love you honey) because if there’s a remote chance of a tiny drop of precipitation within thirty nautical miles, she knows about it. And therefore, I know about it. Her sixth sense has come in handy quite a few times though. One year, my brother and sister-in-law were driving down the interstate heading back home. Doppler 3000 just happened to be  looking at her phone when a weather notification popped up on her mobile app. She noticed that two tornadoes were about to converge right where they were heading. So she sent out a distress call via text to my sister-in-law, told them to get off the interstate, and go home another way.

Wait a minute? Could someone please tell me how I got sidetracked talking about my wife’s weather patterns when I am supposed to be talking about mowing the grass in the winter?

Oh, I remember! Usually I don’t care about the weather all that much. The weather doesn’t tell me how to do my job, so why should I try to tell him, or her, or it… how to do their job.  If it is going to rain, it’s going to rain. If it’s going to snow, it’s going to snow. If it’s going to hail fire and brimstone, I feel no need to worry about it ahead of time, because the inevitable is inevitable.

But when I got home from work today, I noticed that my grass was way taller than it should be… in the winter! I had to mow the grass on the same day that we dragged our Christmas tree out to the curb for trash pickup. What in the world? Where I grew up in Virginia, it was like someone had negotiated a cease fire with the lawn gnomes years prior. From spring through the fall, they got to grow all the weeds that they wanted. But as soon as Thanksgiving ended and certainly by the time Christmas decorations went up…. grass production had to stop. It was a hard and fast rule that you could count on no matter what. Just like I can count on my Doppler 3000, no matter what. I do not know who is in charge of the weather here in the Deep South, but someone is slacking big time.

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Photo Credit: Freeimages.com/tpiko

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