Spin Cycle

Gluttonous worms find lawn enough to feed an army

It's something I haven't been told since first grade, by a boy who pulled my pigtails.

You've. Got. Worms.

He was teasing. The lawn service wasn't.

While my home features plentiful woods to admire out back, I've got a petite postage stamp (kiddies, that's what Aunt Jennifer used to lick and slap on mail before the internet) of a front lawn. On purpose. I've got no green thumb, rather I possess super pasty white ones -- pale from staying locked indoors all summer in the air conditioning the way our merciful God intended. (I've long theorized that if the good Lord really wanted me outside, he wouldn't have created bugs, sweat and skin cancer.)

Ten months ago, I purchased property with a teeny tiny yard, thinking it would be practically no-stress, demanding not much more maintenance than The Brady Bunch's AstroTurf (kiddies, The Brady Bunch is what Aunt Jennifer used to watch as a girl on TV before TV was watched on anything but the TV).

But the house sits in a gated community with a homeowners association and standards and gardening gurus for neighbors. So in the time I've lived there, it's required all kinds of attention.

First, the littlest lawn expects to be mowed. Like, all the time. Which means I'm always cooking (my cute lawn guy, my boyfriend, will come over and mow in exchange for a meal; again, I really do not "do" outside). Then I have to fertilize it; well, I have to make the call to have the service fertilize it. Then it has to be watered, which the sky has graciously handled much of the summer -- too graciously. Meaning more mowing -- well, more cooking.

The littlest lawn also has had its share of giant pests, like ants (maybe the speedy salamanders and the baby frogs, toads, whatever, are kind of cute -- at least they have the decency to be more scared of me than I am of them) and ... a belt? To the cute lawn guy as I recently walked him to his vehicle one evening: "Hey, you seem to have dropped a hideous long black belt with a reptile pattern on my grass!" But it was much worse than a showy accessory -- it was a snake! Shudder!

Cue the lice and the boils and the three days of darkness already! Just when I thought the littlest lawn couldn't get any more plagued, I noticed that, despite record rains, the formerly green Bermuda had developed brown patches. I called the lawn service to investigate.

"We did find armyworms damaging the lawn and treated," the representative wrote matter-of-factly in the invoice tucked in my door handle. Like it was no big deal I had been ruthlessly invaded by a regiment of creepy-crawlies. He recommended that the lawn be watered after treatment and warned that it would require recovery time.

Army. Worms. I felt so violated.

Still, I'm hardly alone. Studying up on these squirmers, I know that summer weather conditions prompted them to take over plenty of Arkansas lawns. I've read that they're hungry things that can do a lot of damage in 24 hours. (Hmm, in that way I relate to them.)

But clearly these unwelcome Arkansas armyworms are in need of a sergeant. Attention! About face! Forward march! Dismissed!

I'll trust that will take care of them. After all, I'm staying inside -- at ease!

Soldier on and email:

jchristman@arkansasonline.com

Spin Cycle is a smirk at pop culture. You can hear Jennifer on Little Rock's KURB-FM, B98.5 (B98.com), from 5:30 to 9 a.m. Monday through Friday.

Style on 09/04/2016

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