MY MOM AND THE SAND SPUR DEBACLE

One of Webster’s definitions of the word “debacle” is:  “A studding, ruinous collapse or failure often ludicrously calamitous.”  So, let me tell you about my mom and the sand spur debacle. The words “ludicrously” and “calamitous” seem appropriate for this recounting.

Those of us who have lived in Florida know what it is like to live with sand spurs.  They can find places to grow where other grasses will not grow.  They seem to easily find lodging in sidewalk cracks or in children’s play areas.  The plants look similar to other grasses and are often confused with more likable grasses.  The plant produces a spur which when dried can stick to about anything—especially bare feet and legs in addition to one’s clothing.  The spurs are particularly vicious because the spurs seem to be barbed and are not easily removed—in addition to being painful.

When we moved to the Auburndale, Florida area in May of 1951, we lived for two years in an old frame shotgun house in the middle of a large orange grove on the John Kingham property between Auburndale and Polk City.  It bordered the south side of Little Lake Agnes.  Today Interstate 4 goes between the lake and where the house stood.  The house was surrounded by orange trees which nearly came up to the house on three sides and a sand road in front.  Consequently when the tractors would disk the grove they would make a turn at the edge of the house and so there was not much yard.  What yard there was had been disked until it was just a sand pile. 

Here is my mom’s account of what she decided to do:

            We had made a bad mistake when we lived in the grove and did not have good grass.  The       grove had been cultivated with the disk and we had no grass on the yard.  Just in front of the house, by the roadsides, grass was growing nicely.  We spent many hours replanting that grass into the yard, only to realize later that we had planted the whole yard in sand spurs.  We learned from that experience what sand spurs could be like and what a difference they could make in your life.  Never again did we mistake that grass as suitable for the lawn.

Mom does not mention in that quote that my sister Doris and I did most of the work of transplanting, and I might add suffered the most (along with another sister Marilyn) from the sand spur crop as we usually played barefoot in the yard!  So, the lesson of the sand spurs was learned early by us  siblings.  It was a lesson that no one in the family ever forgot!