Lisa Browder

I’ve always fancied one day being a successful gardener – green grass; colorful, aromatic flowers; fuzzy textures and unique shapes. I’d sit back and admire the birds and butterflies and the quiet serenity. I chose my home in Florida sight unseen, based on pictures of the backyard garden. Upon arrival, I found the space resembled a jungle, covering every inch of ground from the back wall to the edge of the warped deck. How on earth would I find space for flowers without a pith helmet and machete?

I spent my first winter staring at the yard, trying to visualize it as something else, something a bit more manicured. I spent endless hours imagining the perfect flower-filled secret garden. In the meantime, the yard had a life of its own. Every good jungle needs its creatures, right? So add screen-climbing squirrels, a black racer snake, a raccoon and a possum that hung out under my deck during the day. We named him Bubba. Yes, they were entertaining but didn’t encourage me to spend time lounging on the deck.

Come spring, I started clearing, defining a path so I could reach my future blooms. I’d decided on a carpet of soft, tickle-the-soles-of-the-feet grass as my initial project.

Clearing the jungle, as it turned out, was just the beginning. I uncovered well over 100 bricks. Most were buried in the dirt as if they were originally intended to be a walkway, but some were plugged under the fence (clearly didn’t deter Bubba).

I also found treasures – a crushed Fresca can, a tennis ball, a moss-covered cement owl and ceramic frogs (I kept the frogs).

Now it was time to fill in the blank canvas. I’d been assured that the best grass for shady areas was St. Augustine Palmetto – disease resistant, it said. Perfect. Starting with the recommended groundwork, I dumped bag after bag of topsoil to fill in holes and smooth out uneven areas. I tamped it down by stomping all over it. Very professional. Then I laid the bazillion squares of grass. I thought I’d done a great job. It looked beautiful.

Then a funny thing happened. My cat was scratching a lot and leaving little clumps of fur all over the place. I took her to the vet, expecting a conversation about seasonal allergies. The vet told me it was fleas. How was that possible with indoor cats? He asked if I’d recently brought in grass because it was common for fleas to hitchhike. They could easily have attached to my shoes or pant legs and traveled indoors. As if I hadn’t spent enough money already, I headed to Lowe’s to find something to eradicate fleas.

Several weeks later, I noticed the green was looking a bit sparse. My internet research skills said it could be brown spot. Could be chinch bugs. I couldn’t decide so what the hell. Treat for both, right?

You think that fixed it? Nope. I watched the green slowly disappear. Reseeding was recommended. One more trip to Lowe’s. I covered every square inch of that lawn, let me tell you. To no avail. I gave up.

I got through another winter but, completely disgusted by the back yard, I abandoned attempts at grass resuscitation. I mean fleas? Brown spot? Chinch bugs? I figured even if something green appeared now, it would only attract more bugs or a horde of grass-eating locusts of biblical proportions. Forget it!

Even so, come summertime, I was amazed to see green blades peeking through the brown palette. I’d been told those little isolated clumps of grass wouldn’t spread but I swear they are. Maybe if I wait another decade or so, I’ll have a lawn I like. I wonder if Bubba cares one way or the other.