As a new homeowner, I am now ruled by the needs of my house and yard. Crabgrass, creeping charlie, dandelions, pig weed, and buckthorn seedlings are my ever-lurking nemeses. The baby trees and new perennial transplants seem constantly threatened by alternating dangers of storms and dry spells. I’m constantly preoccupied by plans and revisions of plans to deal with my massive Black Walnut tree and its many ramifications, my shadeless (and therefore often useless) back patio, my poor little Mountain Ash tree growing at a crazy angle, and the tantalizing promise of a side yard retreat.

And then, of course, there’s the lawn itself. It keeps growing, and I keep cutting it back; it grows again, and I cut it back. Week after week we struggle back and forth in what seems to be the longest, most evenly matched game of tug-of-war there can be. And all the while I watch the weather because a weekend of rain spells disaster. My little electric lawn mower and I can’t work in the rain, or even after recent rain, and work schedules dictate that mowing happens on weekends. Not only that, but my little electric mower and I can’t work for more than an hour together before my energy and the battery’s charge run out, which means we have to find not one but two dry portions of every weekend to cover the full yard together.

Twice this summer my mower and I have missed a weekend, and each time the lawn has nearly defeated us with its thick growth ready to clog the blades or simply lie down in front of the mower and duck out of the way. Missing a weekend is a risky proposition indeed.

This morning I managed the first of the weekend’s mowing expeditions, and pulled a basket full of buckthorn seedling and crabgrass. Now the mower’s battery is recharging, I am resting, and thunder is moving in. Will we manage a second bout of mowing tomorrow? The forecast is uncertain. The tug-of-war suspense continues.