Perfect Lawn

Sweltering in the sun was Bob’s sacrifice for his luscious lawn. It was the envy of the neighborhood, at least that’s what Bob believed. Every day, he spent hours caring for his span of greenery. Needing to take charge of every step of the process, Bob mixed his own grass seed blend. He ordered his seed from Heartland Elite Seed, the premier provider for grass seed, also the most expensive. The exact percentages of Tall Fescue, Kentucky Bluegrass, and Perennial Ryegrass he kept a secret. His lawn, the thick and crowded blades, radiated a deep emerald green. Neighbors had joked that Bob used his dense lawn as a way to compensate for his thinning hair. Small animals could walk on the blades without sinking. The lawn was truly remarkable.

To keep that saturated green, Bob mowed the lawn religiously once or twice a week. His ritual consisted of sharpening the blade once a month. The sharp blade cut the grass cleanly. He could not tolerate frayed and shredded shoots. The frequent mowings also fed the lawn with tiny clippings adding the much needed nitrogen to maintain the color. To let the grass grow too long would choke the lawn with too much thatch. He varied the route he used to mow the grass so that the mower would not pass the same path over and over. He had four distinct patterns he followed to ensure the soil would never get too compacted.

Bob’s love of his lawn was second only to his love for his country. The only thing he had ever allowed stuck in his grass were signs to show his love of the President or his disdain for the opposing party. Over the years, his signs had become increasingly prolific and a tad distasteful. The current banners showed support for the recent military strikes in the Middle East. He believed that one should always support the troops, so he displayed the signs and the flag with pride.

Today was dethatching day. He started off every spring by clearing the accumulated thatch from the bed of his lawn. In actuality, very little material collected, but he had listened to a podcast about dethatching from his favorite turfgrass professional, also named Bob, Bob Greenfield, affectionately called the Turfman. The Turfman explained that dethatching was an integral process for a healthy lawn. Bob had become a dethatching zealot afterward. Some people used power rakes, which either ran on electricity or gas; however, Bob was a dethatching purist and only used a hand dethatching rake. There was only one problem. Bob had lent his rake to Tony who lived five minutes down the road. Bob had no choice but to drive over to Tony’s house. With gas costing well of six dollars a gallon, Bob avoided unexpected trips, but the lawn needed him to get that rake. Bob hopped in his black Ford F-150 Raptor and headed over to Tony’s. He decided that he would stop to fill up the Ford. He hoped gas prices would have dropped from the $6.79 a gallon they were the last time he filled up. Going a few blocks out of his way to pass the Shell station, Bob shook his head and drove on by. The station was closed.

Bob turned left into Tony’s subdivision. He noticed how brown and dry the lawns were. If any of these yards were his, he would have died of embarrassment. Outdoor watering was strictly limited, so Bob found a way to keep his lawn from thirsting. He had set up rain collection barrels to catch the water from his roof. After his left and right neighbors moved, he added barrels to their properties as well. He had plenty of water to keep his dense, outdoor shag thickly green. When he arrived at Tony’s house, the garage door was open with boxes, clothing, and other household items littering the floor. He scanned the garage but did not see his rake. Worried, Bob knocked on the door, but no one answered. He tried opening the door, but it was locked. Becoming more apprehensive, he pounded on the door. Still nothing. He peered into the windows as he walked around the house. The rooms were messy but empty. When Bob reached the backyard, a wave of relief and irritation washed over him. There it was—his dethatching rake—lying against Tony’s Littleleaf Linden. He was ecstatic that he had found his rake, but absolutely flabbergasted about Tony leaving it out in the elements. He spotted a little bit of rust, but a little steel wool and WD-40 would make it as good as new. Bob picked up the rake, put it in the back of the Ford, and drove back home.

Arriving home, Bob walked upstairs to his bedroom to change into his yard work clothes, which consisted of a pair of old khaki shorts with a ripped hem and an old loose grey t-shirt. As he was about to go outside, a sharp briiing, briing, briing, briing, erupted from his phone. He answered, “Hello?”

“Dad, thank God, I finally got through. The networks have been down all day.”

“Hey sweetheart, how’s it going? How are my grandkids?”

Anxiously, “Dad, they're good, but you have to leave. Come stay with us where it’s safer.”

Bob’s brow furrowed. “Are you still harping on that? I’m not leaving my home.”

“Dad. Listen. The war. The news reports . . . “

Bob interrupts, “The news! You’ll believe anything they tell you. Everything is fine.”

Her voice grew more desperate, “Please, there are reports of . . . “

“Listen, I need to go. It’s dethatching day. I’ll call you later. Love you.” Bob hung up the phone.

For the rest of the day, Bob dethatched the lawn. He worked tirelessly, having built the callouses needed to hand rake for long stretches of time. Despite the hours of work, Bob barely managed to collect half a lawn bag’s worth of thatch from the lawn. Bob sat down for a well-deserved break. He turned on the TV, which was set to its usual channel. The President was giving a speech about the Conflict. He was optimistic that the conflict would end any day now. Our troops were decimating their forces. They barely had a military left. Bob, annoyed, wondered why his daughter was such a worrywart. He took a shower and made a simple dinner of Spam and beans.

With his bowl in hand, Bob sat down to watch Wheel of Fortune. He caught the tail end of the “Occupation” category. He smiled and the woman revealed the puzzle, “Landscape Architect.” The next puzzle was about to start. The category was Rhyme Time. Just as the next round was about to start, a sharp dissonant beeping cut into the clicking of the wheel spinning.

“EMERGENCY ALERT. THIS IS NOT A TEST.”

“An immediate threat to life and safety has been reported in your region. Multiple hostile attacks have been reported in your region. Shelter in place.”

Abruptly, the screen goes black.

The words “No Signal Detected” scroll across the screen. Bob looked out the window and saw some clouds.

“Satellite must be out again.”