The Art of Growing Grass

I’m not sure why, but ever since “Fake Spring” began all I’ve wanted to do is mow some grass. Fake Spring, as Andy Johnson would describe it, is when you get those first few nice days coming out of winter. Then, right as you start to think spring has sprung, you get slammed with another intense snowstorm. I thought spring started over a month ago, and here we are in the middle of April with another snowstorm.

Anyways, back to the point at hand. All I can think about is grass, and all I wanna do is lie down and make lawn angels. Like really, I just can’t stop thinking about perfect, striped, green grass, and I’m not even sure why. I don’t even have a lawn! I have rocks. Xeriscape, or whatever they call it. Which is great, because low maintenance, but weeds still grow in it and I still have to pull them. Much easier to do on a Toro Groundsmaster with a little bit of Scott’s Turfbuilder. Definitely, more fun.

Now, I don’t actually know the slightest thing about growing grass. While my years of mechanic training have allowed me the ability to take apart an entire mower and put it back together, I don’t know much about agronomy beyond mowing my grandparent’s lawn when I was a kid or that my mom tried desperately to kill the crabgrass in our yard with 2,4-D. Even when I was an FFA member in high school, I shied away from the plant science side of things because it just didn’t seem all that interesting to me. Living in a desert where the plant life all seemed to look the same, just never seemed like a useful thing to know.

But, here I am. Watching endless TikToks and Instagram Reels of people mowing their lawns. What has my life become? Why am I seemingly so addicted? Is it because my favorite color is green? Is it because I’m addicted to the aesthetic nature of well manicured grass? Or, is it because I’m an absolute lunatic when it comes to anything related to golf? Anyone who knows me would say it’s the the latter.

Golf is such a beautiful game. No matter where someone builds a golf course, it’s always aesthetically pleasing. There’s just something about how nature brings a warmth to the soul, even if it is meticulously curated. Well, most of the time anyway.

While I wouldn’t say I’ve played any of the most beautiful courses out there, I feel a spark of joy anytime I step foot on a golf course. Even if it’s a small municipal course without the big time funds to maintain at a high level I still find it more attractive then even the most well crafted urban area. It just feels amazing to be outside on nature’s playground.

I’m sure I’m not alone when I say there’s a major pull to work on a golf course. For me, it was always intriguing to think that people make their living masterfully cultivating a living, breathing life into a massive playing field for others to enjoy their weekend. Imagine getting payed to be outside, nurturing an outwardly normal piece of ground into an alluring masterpiece. It’s something I’ve wanted to get closer to ever since I started playing golf.

It can’t all be sunshine and rainbows though. Superintendents and greenskeepers work long hard hours behind the scenes. They’re often the first ones to arrive, even on the weekends, making sure that playing conditions are pristine for you and me. They’re irrigation technicians and mechanics, always answering the call to do whatever is needed to get the job done. They’re out there when the sun is burning down, and they’re there when freezing cold rain is falling. They answer to club members and greens committees, answering ridiculous questions, all so that we can show up Sunday morning and hack our way to a drunken 108 before we hit the bar again to catch the end of the PGA tournament. Truthfully, they deserve more credit. It truly is art.

I wish I would’ve known how much I loved golf sooner. Maybe then I would’ve ended up out under the sun, a part of a wonderful group of people who make a joyous life possible for an average joe like me. Maybe I would’ve even stayed in school long enough to really understand myself and learn a thing or two about grass. I guess, for now though, I’ll just have to hope that if I replace enough divots and fix enough ball marks, they’ll let me take a mower for a spin and crack a beer while I cruise off into the sunset.

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