It is once again hitting the 40’s here in Moranbah.

The tar on the roads is melting and I can hear my sprinkler illegally running outside, trying desperately to keep my spiky plants of death alive and rouse our sleeping grass seeds from the Sahara soil. The smell of wet grass and dirt is dragging my brain back to my childhood.

Yeah, no surprises there. Wave a memory in front of me and I’m gone.

Now where were we, sprinklers!

Water restrictions were something that didn’t really register with me until I grew up with a lawn of my own, so whether they existed or not when I was a kid, I’m not sure.

I doubt it though, because man, did we love our sprinklers.

We lived at the pool, training, carnivals, weekends and after school we were there, but despite having this fantastic facility, the sprinklers were still given a right good crack all summer, autumn and spring long.

Probably something to do with the Magpies on pool patrol.

Button sprinklers were the favourite. Such a versatile little yard accessory. Not only was it a great source of entertainment its own, add a trampoline and dishwashing liquid and you’ve got yourself a death trap, broken arm machine, hours of fun!

Dangerous as hell? Yes Sir. Fun as hell?  Yes Ma’am!

Of course the anti was always upped when you tipped the tramp on its side, or if you were a real thrill seeker, on its end, and then ran up it flat stick, slamming it back down onto the muddy earth.

You’d get soap in your eyes and wear the skin off your knees, and undoubtably tear holes in your togs, but it was all worth it.

You were done when the sun lost its sting and the bubbles had dried and caked brown onto the black mat in the 40 degree heat, if no-one had done an ankle or been shot off in a double bounce, it was a good day.

Adding to the button, we also had a tractor sprinkler (awesome, like a little robot looking after your yard). As, as I’ve mentioned, we had a FANTASTIC lawn, and subsequently we spent a lot of time on it.

Laying on it, trying to cartwheel on it, playing skip with the water from the hose on it, staying off it when Dad put the ‘burn your feet off poison’ fertiliser on it.

I’ve never had a yard like it again, and doubt I ever will. I guess I’m too lazy. Or busy, let’s say busy.

The lawn gene certainly did not take, with me. (grass seed pun intended)

We had an over the road neighbour here in town once that had the greatest lawn I had ever seen. Even better than ours as growing up.

And my gosh, did that guy put in some effort. He would mow 2x a week, roll, yes roll a few times a week, trim the edges, fertilise and water it constantly. We assume he was a greenkeeper in days gone by. Or maybe he hated his wife, who knows.

But his lawn was spectacular.

All I ever wanted to do was run over there in the cool of the evening when no one was around, and lay on it.

Alas, someone beat me to it.

However instead of going over and laying on the lawn while Lawn Guy and his wife slept soundly, they decapitated their ball hedges and hacked their soaker hose to pieces!!!!!!

This really happened!

He moved out not long after this “incident”, and as far as I know no one ever found out what happened. Did Lawn Guy have enemies? Was it a random act? Was our soaker hose next?

How could someone hate lawns, and cartwheels, and all the happiness that comes from soft green grass?

More than likely I’d say it was a jealous nut job. Or someone who was chastised for playing on bowling greens as a kid.

Just to be safe we kept our yard nice and dead while we lived in that street.

Can never be too careful.

Might go turn off my soaker hose.



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