Lawn Humps converging upon Hether and S. Lamar, Austin TX, November 2006.
It’s always fun when nutjob fundie godbags get caught with a snootful of dope and their dick up some guy’s ass, but nothing beats the pure pop pleasure of the Wacky Lawns of South Austin.
Depicted here is my all-time favorite in the self-expression-through-turf category: the Lawn Humps. Last year I watched in amazement at the homeowners transformed their regular crappy South Austin weed-yard into the miniature mountain range of lush fescue (or whatever the heck it is) you see before you. They sculpted shoulder-high domes of dirt, blanketed them in squares of sod, watered, and waited. For a while it was touch-and-go. Some of the grass withered away and died, giving the humps the look and feel of a giant green tribble leper colony. But the visionary Hump-farmers persevered, and today the yard is a vision in lumpy verdure.
Sadly I am no photographer, and so have been able to merely hint at the true magnificence of these Humps. They’re friendly, sympathetic entities in real life (especially now that some of’em have been capped with spider grass toupees), which is why I have resisted alluding to them as Grassy Knolls, a term that, especially for the Texan of a certain age, can never be kitsch-neutral again.
I can only imagine the zeniths of creative genius to which I could ascend if I had Lawn Humps at my side. I would write My Year With The Yard Hump Tribe, paint Le dejeuner sur l’humpe, create a new Hump Dance craze.
Or perhaps in the mornings I would ascend one of the Humps, from which soaring summit — the highest on South Lamar — I would sit with a quiet cuppa and contemplate the Humpularity of the cosmos.