Last February I fertilized the citrus tree on the front lawn. No, I did not fuck it in a knothole, which reminds us all of the joke about “Tarzan check for hornet nest,” right? An old chestnut, pardon the pun.
Citrus trees are supposed to be fertilized in February, June, and October. While I don’t know why, I do know how: you distribute the product around the tree at approximately the “drip line;” that is, the outer edge of the canopy and just beyond. Evidently this encourages the roots to reach and spread like a horny female. Heh. And you thought “sexual landscaping” meant shaving your balls.
The results of my efforts became evident a few weeks later: there was a clearly defined ring of thick, dark green grass where I dropped the fertilizer. I can’t say the product did a goddam thing for the citrus tree, but the lawn loved it. Keep in mind that there are dozens of different fertilizers available, all allegedly crafted to benefit a particular form of vegetation, a different mix of chemical content for citrus or lawns or shrubs or palms or roses or hedges or blooming idiots. So this positive development should not have happened: in fact, the way things usually work for me, it should have killed the grass it landed on, not fed it.
So I chug over to Home Depot and buy another bag of this shit — the variety specially mixed for citrus and avocado; says so right on the label — and wait for a day of rain (because it’s always best to water after fertilizing. It’s why women wash their snatches out after sex). I distribute the shit (not literally shit unlike the literal shit I used to use on the lawn) all over the front yard, including the area between the sidewalk and street that south Floridians call “the swale.” I luck out, too, because the rain is perfect — an extended, slow, soaking rainfall that works the fertilizer into the turf without washing it away.
Yesterday I mowed for the second time since applying. The ring is no longer visible, and the lawn is thick, lush, dark green. It’s never looked so good. In fact, it’s never smelled or felt so good. Can’t tell you about taste. Not my area.
The moral of this tale is, Always read the label, but never believe what it says. No, wait — what if it says “Poison”? I know — give it to the dog! Okay, I’ll work on this. Aesop I ain’t.