The miracle of grass.

You can always tell which of your new neighbors are not from the south. And it's not because they actually say "you guys" as opposed to "y'all", or because when you say "barbecue", they think of their grill. No, it's because they don't know when to stop watering their yard.

As you may know, the seasons here in the south are on their own schedule. Summer starts sometime in April and can run as late as Thanksgiving, winter is, well, pretty much non-existent, unless you count those four days in the year the temperature actually dips below freezing at night as winter, and fall and spring are squashed somewhere in between. If you're lucky, that is. This past year, we went straight from winter (which in this case was very real) to the heat of summer. And when you're banking on a few weeks of "normal" weather, i.e., temperatures that allow you to do things other people take for granted, such as sit outside without feeling faint, sleep with your windows open without the fear of hot flashes, and walk to the mailbox barefoot without burning your feet, missing a season like that is painful.

Anyway, this year, we're experiencing a truly beautiful fall. Temperatures have generally hovered in the low 80s for the past few weeks, which means we've been able to sleep with our windows open and the air turned off, let our dogs spend a few hours outside without worrying about trips to vet for heatstroke, and exercise without looking a wet, red-faced freak. Granted, getting used to morning temperatures in the low 40s has been pretty rough. Especially when you're used to running before 7 in the morning in nothing but shorts and a tank top. Let's just say I've rediscovered the joys of long-sleeved thermal shirts and long cycling leggings.

But I'm really not complaining, which in itself is pretty much a miracle. I think we can safely say, actually, that I'm pretty darn tootin' happy with this time of year. Now if only those pesky student papers would go away...but I digress.

Besides being a respite from the insane heat, the fall is also the time of year when everything in nature dies. And I mean everything. Not just your flowers, the blossoms on your crepe myrtles, or the roaches that have been trying to live inside your house months, but also your grass. Grass just doesn't stop growing here, like it does in other normal places, no, it dies. Or more specifically, it goes into a deep hibernation which causes it stop growing, and become brown and hard. Then when spring comes around, just like a miracle, your grass wakes up, and within a matter of a few days, you have a beautiful green yard. I guess you could say Georgia grass is extremely unhappy with cold weather. I'm pretty sure if it had wings, it would go hibernate in southern Florida, or maybe the Bahamas. But as it can't, it just turns dark and brittle.

Anyway, most people who have lived here long enough know that unless you want to be mowing well into the Christmas season, you can pretty much stop watering your yard sometime in mid-September. Grass will go into hibernation anywhere between early October and early November, depending on the temperatures, and if you stop turning your sprinklers on, you will "help" it along just a little bit. And after mowing your butt off for one very long, hot summer, most people are quite ready for their grass to start pushing up the daisies, metaphorically speaking.

So to make a long story short, it's a very exciting time for all husbands on the block. No one on our cul-de-sac has watered their yard in weeks. All the grass is slowly acquiring brown spots, and losing its color and softness, and I don't think I've seen any of our neighbors mow their yards in at least two weeks. Well, that is, except the people on the corner. And the people a few houses down. They still water their yards religiously. And mow them every weekend. And for those of you who were wondering; no, their grass will die anyway. Unless you've planted rye grass (which they haven't), your yard will be brown and dead. It's the way of the world around here. And yes, these are also the same neighbors who only moved in last summer.

Maybe one of us should go tell them their grass will die regardless of what they do. Or perhaps we should just enjoy the show a little longer. It is, after all, what our Georgia neighbors did to us when we first moved here. Just think of it as a rite of passage; learning about the miracle of Georgia grass.