The Great American Rivalry by Jane Tolbert

What is it about peaceful weekend mornings and my cup of coffee. The minute I sit down on my back porch, the noise begins. Sounds from next door. Across the street. The American weekend rivalry has begun.

From somewhere—a garage or a back shed-- power mowers and blowers emerge, and the great race begins with a deafening roar. It’s all about residential lawns blanketed with St. Augustine grass. This American weekend rivalry pits neighbors against neighbors.

All that’s missing is Heyword Hale Broun in his plaid jacket with large handlebar mustache reporting live from Suburbia, America. The rivalry in the Army Navy games is nothing compared to the neighborhood rivalvy to finish the yard chores for the weekend.

You would have to be out of your mind to want St. Augustine grass in Florida. But here it is—these lawns which guzzle at least one-third (and by some estimates, nearly two thirds) of our fresh water supply and require constant nourishment are pervasive.

I knew nothing about St. Augustine before I became a homeowner. And now I can identify the host of insects that chomp happily on my lawn. An entomologist’s paradise! And my own observations suggest that when egrets land in my yard, then I know I have an army of critters chomping on the root system. If, several days later, my lawn rolls up like a carpet, I know I have white grubs.




With St. Augustine comes additional requirements—pesticides and herbicides and fertilizers, which add further to the woes of our water supply. The professional lawn services seem to be an added necessity. What is the origin of this St. Augustine addiction? Northerners who brought the lawns south? Or photographs of British estates?

The silence of the morning has been shattered irreparably. One neighbor who always sports a “web survivor” tee shirt has already started mowing. The other neighbor begins in the evenings Those across the street, mow to Christian rock in the mid afternoon. The house behind me is empty for now, but I am sure the new residents will fill in those silent hours.

I try to resist the temptation to join in the ruckus. . . . But then I know sometime this weekend, I too will have to mow the St. Augustine. If I mow today, then perhaps tomorrow I can enjoy my coffee. Of course, my option is to bring on the egrets and grubs. I will replace those dying patches with indigenous plants. Now, if I can only convince the neighbors.
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