It's a 103 outside. All the lawns in the neighborhood have virtually stopped growing. They're burnt from green to tan and crunch underfoot.
Except the neighbor's lawn. It's sprayed with chemicals , trimmed, blown (never raked!) and meticulously watered with a fervor usually seen only in the insane and the fundamental.
Shaggy. It hosts the occasional chicory plant and lamb's ear, yarrow and hollyhock that have escaped from the garden. The local deer, rabbit, fox, toad, butterfly, bird and chipmunk population love it and spend many hours eating and subsequently pooping over its expansive weediness.
My neighbor no doubt thinks that I am insane.
But I am not the one mowing in 103 degree heat.
It's just a lawn; a convention of the French and against all that nature dictates. She doesn't like proper patches of perfectly coiffed high maintenance grass! She likes chaos and things that take care of themselves!
I will not fire up my mower and bake under the noon sun for a lawn!