I've never cared much for grass lawns. It always felt like I was putting so much effort into something that was just grass. Instead, in my last house, I slowly worked on removing the grass. Sections of grass were pulled out and composted and perennials and mulch were put in their place. Every year, I'd divide my perennials and plant them in the newly dug up areas.

Good, hardy perennials and groundcovers, the things that could survive a Minnesota winter and a summer of dogs and lawn parties. Starting in the spring when my bulbs burst through all the way through the fall, my yard was a mishmash of colors and shapes and I adored it. Most of my neighbors were the "mow and rake on Saturday and forget it the rest of the week" kinds, but there were a couple of houses with the perfectly manicured lawns, edges neatly done, everything thoroughly sprayed. They usually mowed 2 or 3 times a week because they watered and fertilized so often.

They might pass a look of scorn onto my yard as they went by, but I didn't care. If I came home beat after a day of work I didn't have to mow my lawn, I could grab a beer and sit outside and watch all the dragonflies and spiders do their work.

I'm sure the perfect lawn brigade does get a great sense of satisfaction from their lawns. It is such a visual reward equal to their effort. My yard was never neat or tidy, I never sprayed for bugs or weeds (though I would spray fox urine to limit rabbit raids on my veggies), and I would say that I felt a sense of satisfaction just as great. I was proud of my jumble, the pinks and blues and yellows all mixed up. I was proud of the effort I had put into collecting seeds and germinating them the next year.

I miss my yard. I'm renting a house now, but the yard is small and I share it. Soon we will buy another house and I can't wait to have my jumble back.

We had a very hilly yard, and mowing it was abysmally trying. Raking it in the fall was even worse. It was my most hated chore, hot, hard work, and we got screamed at, not for doing it wrong, but for not wanting to do it at all...

I waited until I was 49 to buy a house, and I only mow every other weekend - I love seeing the ridiculously long grass growing with nobody telling me it has to be done this Saturday...

I made my girls move from place to place just because I was afraid of crushing.

If your dad had REALLY been obsessive, he wouldn't have used a mower with a motor! He'd have been out there with a push mower, making that pretty swsshhh-swsshhh sound, instead of polluting a nice weekend with the tinny roar of a gas-powered mower.

Just sayin'.

I absolutely hated yardwork. Ours was a corner lot, so the yard was fairly large for the neighborhood and I got to mow it. I now own 2.5 acres of property and I don't mow it at all - winter comes along every year and takes care of that job for me. This despite the fact that I too have a riding mower.

My dad's yard is still gorgeous, but he does all of the work himself. As I look back on it now, he actually did all of the work except the mowing all along...

Well, my mother, being a single mother, was the obsessive lawn care maniac in my family. Of course, she was obsessive about anything in the house. She would follow repair man around and watch them work. I never saw the same one twice. My cousin, who was a contractor, made the mistake, when my mother was in her 70's, of offering to do handyman work for her. I still remember the day she called me saying she couldn't get him to return her phone calls. I think I about died laughing.

But when I was a teenager, after being badgered and critiqued over any type of work done around the house (it was thoroughly inspected when I was through, every day), she made the mistake of following me around in her bathrobe while I tried to mow the lawn, criticizing at each turn (you missed that, you gotta do the edges over the paving stones just right, you need to re-mow this part, ad naseaum)....I walked away in disgust and left the mower in the back yard right where it was. I believe she got a young boy to mow the lawn after that. Oddly enough, he did for several years but I think only because he mowed it when she was at work. But I never did it again. Actually, I had my own revolution and refused to any particular chore again, if she dared to criticize it. Which was a lot. She never seemed to learn. Made obvious in her old age by my cousin's refusal to pick up the phone.

I hate to say it. Unlike the author, I never found a redeeming grace from it (although, I don't mind mowing my lawn). As a matter of fact, reading this article, I think my blood pressure spiked a little, the father's obsession was so reminiscent. Yikes!!!

P.S. My neighbor is an obsessive lawn guy. It takes him two hours to mow his lawn! He mows it and then re-mows it. I do my as fast as I can just to see how fast I can get it done. I just wonder, aren't there better things in life to be doing?

My father gave me a weedwacker for my 15th birthday and was confused, then angry, when I wasn't happy about it. Top that.

For my father, the lawn was just another area of the house where he had to have total control. He forced us kids to mow the lawn, but to do so to his exact specifications. Fucked it up? Do it over.