Will that be a bob or a mop-top?

So, yesterday we escaped our winter prison and went out to do a spring clean on the yard. Jeff pruned the trees, and I raked up last year's death of leaves and fruit that got buried in the snow. Mindless raking gives you a lot of time to think, and I started remembering my old days as a hairdresser. Growing up, the north side of our lawn was always lush, green, and about eight to twelve inches long. The perfect length for a trim. So my sisters and I would grab the wide-toothed combs out of the bathroom and my mom's good sewing scissors and go to town on the lawn. We would each take a circle of grass about the size of a head and talk to it about general things. You know the usual adult chit-chat: How's the family? Are you busy at work? Yeah, my kids are driving me crazy too. Once the trim became a buzz, we would move on the the next customer. I'm convinced that my dad intentionally didn't mow that section just to let us have some entertainment. I'm also convinced that that's where I picked up my green thumb. I actually don't have much of a green thumb at all, but my plants are all grown with a whole lotta love. This year, I have decided to channel my love for all things green into a square foot garden. So, I'm taking the ugliest space in the yard

and come summer, I should have a luscious, green space where I can talk to my newest customers and trim to my heart's desire. And you think I'm kidding.