Yard work. Never cared for it.

Maybe it’s because I grew up in a giant yard in the middle of a forest? Or maybe it’s because the chores never seemed to end? Or maybe it’s because my father embraced a pointless but unwavering commitment to landscaping and curb appeal?  Beats me. I can only tell you that my brothers and I were drafted into this eternal conflict at an early age, with what one might call a conspicuous lack of basic training.

Armed with a vast array of modern weaponry, we were sent out every weekend to confront a determined foe. Acres of grass that refused to stop growing, weeds that laid siege to the perimeter of my parent’s farmhouse, and magical trees that needed to be pruned every few hours. We were doomed to fail of course, and overwhelmed by the futility of it all, which is why I now live in a condo. So then, why did I have so much fun last month, laboring for 10 hours in the back yard of a total stranger? Mostly, because the stranger was this guy – Sgt. Peter Mavropolous.

Peter came back from Iraq a few weeks ago from his second tour, and found his property an overgrown shambles. The knucklehead who had agreed to maintain his modest home while he was away had flaked out, and after two years of neglect, Peter’s yard slowly morphed into a condemned lot. (Can you imagine? I mean seriously – what kind of slacker agrees to look after a soldiers property and then lets it go all to hell while his buddy is off getting shot at in a foreign land?) Happily, a group of volunteers materialized, and spent their Saturday restoring Sgt. Peter’s place back into the home it looked like when he left two years earlier. Read More...