SURVIVIN’ JUST ONE PALLET OF GRASS

June 17, 2026

by Rusty W. Mitchum

A few years ago, I put out one, just one, pallet of St. Augustine grass. If you’re old like me, this will give you some idea of what you’re in for. I call it, “The Stages of Puttin’ Out One Pallet of St. Augustine Grass for Old People.” This advice comes from personal experience.

First, check air pressure in trailer tires. Notice a bubbled-out spot on the sidewall of one of the tires. Better change it. Check spare. Spare’s flat. Air up spare. Air leaks out of spare faster than you can put it in. Decision time. Aww heck, it’s just little bubble. Maybe you can make it.

Drive to grass place to pick up one pallet of grass. Guy loads a 3000-pound pallet of grass onto trailer with a forklift. Bubble on tire a lot bigger now.

Prayer time. Pray you can make it home.

Drive 20 miles an hour expectin’ a blowout at any minute. Cars lined up behind you like the Macy’s Day Parade. Drivers behind you, not happy.

You make it home. Thank the Lord for answerin’ yes to your prayer.

Back trailer up in yard.

Pick up the pieces of the bird bath you backed over.

Time to get to work.

First row and second row of grass rectangles placed carefully in place.

Third, fourth, and fifth rows thrown like the bales of hay you used to throw onto that school bus that had been converted into a flatbed hay truck back when you were a kid.

Sixth row, walkin’ like Frankenstein to the spot for the next grass rectangle and droppin’ it in the approximate place.

Lookin’ at the pallet and noticin’ that the grass must be multiplyin’ because the pallet of grass is not getting any smaller.

Put out another row.

Now crawlin’ to the water faucet to turn on the water. So thirsty.

Turn the water on while mouth is an inch from the end of the hose. So thirsty.

Flip floppin’ on the ground while spittin’ out boilin’ water.

Note to self: Check temperature of water in hose before drinkin’.

Back to work. Complete another row.

Sweatin’ profusely. Nearly out of breath.

Lookin’ for an appropriate stick in which to use to push the lung you heaved up back into your chest.

Pallet two thirds down. One third to go.

Makin’ the decision whether to use what energy you have left to finish or dig a grave to bury yourself.

Suddenly you’re on your back on the ground lookin’ up. Either you’ve passed out or you’re dyin’.

You see a bright light. There’s your dead grandma wavin’ at you.

“Grandma!”

The light fades and you see the sky. Is that an angel standin’ over you? He speaks.

“You need some help?” he says. He looks familiar. Oh! It’s your grandson. He has come to help you.

Suddenly, you go into supervisor mode.

Grandson finishes in record time without breakin’ a sweat and then goes back and straightens all of the rectangles that you laid.

God bless grandsons. Thanks, Grady. I love you, Bud.

Oh yeah fellows, when your wife asks how it went, you answer that it was a piece of cake.