Can You Really Blame Him?

About a year ago--when life was simple and I only had one vacant home--I met Calvin. Calvin owns a lawn service and he happened to be down the street from said empty property. I needed the lawn taken of. He had a lawn mower. It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

In the course of the past year, I have called with random jobs, all related to yard maintenance. And Calvin would sweetly follow through, fax me his bill and then call to make sure I did indeedy get the invoice.

Calvin is a one-man mowing service. He has a wife and young children. He makes enough to support his family. He charges reasonable rates, at least compared to what I find in Phoenix. I didn't really thoroughly shop around Birmingham for lawn care, other than to call some landscaping services and see they are much more pricey.

Last month I asked Calvin to please take a pilgrimage over to my house in Leeds to take care of the yard. I was aware it was a bit of a drive. I had no idea the condition of the yard. Calvin called me to let me know the yard was pretty awful. By the time I got there, I found the yard in pristine condition.

Sadly, not only was the yard a challenge for Calvin, but so were the neighbors--who didn't seem to realize the Civil War ended years ago. The rednecks in that neighborhood quickly came out of their rat holes and called the police on the guy for trespassing. Calvin didn't complain. I was mortified. In fact, I found out about poor Calvin's humiliation from the Leed's police. (And, for the record, the police knew the neighbors were trouble and Calvin was gold).

Yesterday I found out there was a notice from the county at Wayward's home telling me I had 24 hours to clean up the yard. Of course this was news to me, as Wayward neglected to share this tidbit. So, I called Calvin and asked for a miracle. What I got was confirmation the weeds were six feet high (the person who found that note at Wayward's house, while checking on Wayward the Deadbeat, had told me about the weeds yesterday). And, bless him, he gave me a volume discount.

Now being the desert girl that I am, when I hear six feet weeds, I don't think critters. I think weeds. Dirt. Annoyance. And, maybe a little accidental xeriscape shade. However, poor Calvin got a swarm of yellow jackets. And, while running away from them, he tore through the front yard, into the street and ran into a car. The driver--thank God--was going slowly.

Calvin is ok. Nothing broken. However, it turns out Calvin is allergic to yellow jacket stings. Turns out, he isn't litigious. Turns out he fired me. "Ma'am," he said, with a polite Southern drawl, "you have crazy houses."