“It’s time to cut the lawn,” our neighbor told us today. We agreed it was looking a bit furry, but we thought it gave the front of the house some character. Plus it looked like we do, two months without a haircut.
“Let’s wait til May,” Alf said.
“By then you’ll need to hack your way to the front door,” he said.
“Come on, it won’t be that bad,” Alf said.
“Yes it will, it’s all the watering you do every morning that’s causing the jungle to spring up.”
Truth is our neighbor keeps his lawn as short as a barber’s haircut and ours was irritating him.
So after a lot of back and forth, Alf allowed the mower to come across our driveway and into the front lawn.
Our neighbor did a fine job of hair cutting. The equipment made all the right rumbling noies and the blower whined throughout the neighborhood. It was done in less than fifteen minutes.
He was satisfied with the results and took his mower back to his house, went inside and we won’t see him for another month.
We guess this is his way of coping with the lockdown. Every leaf has to be a certain height and no higher. He turns on a fountain every day with a yellow rubber ducky bobbing on the surface. The basket of flowers at his front door are artificial and look grey around the edges. Everything else is real, including a rhododendron tree that explodes with purple flowers every spring.
Three fig trees line up tall between his property and ours. He doesn’t like figs so we get the harvest. I love them. We in turn give him oranges and lemons from our trees. A polite exchange.
Calvin says, “How can he not like figs? I like figs, and that’s crazy because beagles hate fruit.”