A YARD DAY’S NIGHT

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I love working in my yard, and I make no bones about it. To me, there is something therapeutic about an afternoon spent working in the yard. Plus, it’s a lot cheaper than a psychologist.

So, you can imagine my shock when I was attacked by people — people who claimed to be my friends — over my choice of outdoor recreation.

It all started when one of my fraternity brothers from college created an Internet message board. (Stay with me here. It’ll make sense. I think.) Basically, a message board is a website where people can post messages to one another and comment on others’ posts. Think of it as a bathroom wall in cyberspace. Only it smells better.

Many of the alumni from my fraternity use this message board as a way to stay in touch with each other, as well as to relive important events from college, such as the time one of my friends wrestled a Christmas tree. And lost. Twice.

But it is also an information exchange, if you will, where everyone is more than willing to lend a helping hand to a brother in need. Why, just last week, someone posted a message asking if anyone knew how to fix a broken toilet. In a flash, the answer came: "Call a plumber, idiot."

Which brings us up to the topic of today, which is my yard (I told you I was going to come full circle). You see, I have a spot in my yard where the soil is quite comparable to a parking lot. Just mentioning possible relocation to The Spot to the other plants in the yard is like a death knell. Nobody wants to go to The Spot. My wife and I have long debated what we could plant in The Spot.

Perhaps I had been in the sun too long and my judgment was clouded. But I decided to post on the message board a plea for help. Who better to ask, I figured, than my fraternity brothers, my lifelong link to my college days.

Who better, you say? I’ll tell you who better — anyone. I would have gotten more help had I asked a Ouija board. Did I get help with my troubled yard condition? No, I got abused. Some of the responses to my request for assistance:

"You pansies need to stop this topic. You should be inside drinking beer and watching TV and not piddling around in the yard like a bunch of marys."

"I’ll pass your question on to my wife. She’ll probably be able to give you a better answer. Then you girls can talk about your favorite flowers and share make-up secrets."

"You know who else is in to gardening? The Englishters. And we all know what a bunch of manly men they are."

I know what you’re thinking: "Englishters? What are Englishters?" I, too, stumbled over that one. But, I think the main point they were getting at is that spending time in the yard is something that should be done while wearing a blouse, and perhaps some pumps.

Well, I think that’s an absurd notion. For one thing, have you ever tried to mow the grass in pumps?

But it’s not just that. Working in the yard is a very manly endeavor, one that requires an intense surge of testosterone. Yardwork is a staple of American life. When the pioneers conquered the West, they engaged in the purest form of yardwork — they had to make a yard out of untamed wilderness. They were also often eaten by wolves, so we don’t want to parallel their lives too much. As you can see, it is a part of our American heritage.

And just to clarify, when I refer to gardening and yardwork, I am talking about lawnmowers that could take off your toes, hedge trimmers that could easily remove a thumb, and countless other ways to lose crucial body parts. I am talking guy stuff.

There are countless examples of great men who were also gardeners — Thomas Jefferson, George Washington Carver, Erle Stanley. We are a nation of gardeners. And, despite the unfounded attacks by my misguided fraternity brothers, becoming one with the soil is a noble hobby.

I guess there are just some people who have preconceived notions, and those notions will never change, regardless of how wrong they may be. Take Jerry Lewis fans, for example. I’m sure many of you out there are with me on this. And I’m sure someone out there knows what can be done with a full shade area that is practically slate (shameless plea for help from someone with yard savvy). I will not fall victim to my fraternity brothers’ unjustified stereotyping. In fact, I think I will go out in my yard right now and cut the grass. Now, where are my pumps?

E-mail me at mwg1234@yahoo.com, especially if you know what I should do with my yard (shameless plea #2).