I am beginning to think that I live at Ground Zero for mulch fetishists (the mid to lower Midwest).
Every year around this time the populace launches into its major gardening activity of the year - buying mounds of mulch to spread around their trees and front yard shrubs. The object is not so much to benefit the plants or soil, but to “look nice”, prevent weeds etc. Early spring is a bad time to put down mulch in these parts (soil is wet to soggy and cold, mulching inhibits warm-up and locks in excess moisture) but they do it anyway, including at the hospital where I work (somehow they manage to obtain the stinkiest mulch in the area (it smells like a combination of raccoon sweat and rotting corpses), laying it down using a mulching machine which belches the stuff out through giant hoses).
The worst part is getting stuck in a checkout line behind a true mulch fetishist, like I did last Saturday. I was attempting to buy a couple bags of potting soil, but the middle-aged lady in front of me was agonizing over a Mulch Life Decision and peppering the inexperienced teen-aged cashier with an endless volley of questions - what’s the difference between these mulches, which hold their color, what’s the rebate on this, that and the other one, and on and on. She goes over to the Mulch Display Bin to fondle each one individually, then back to harangue the cashier once more. The beleaguered cashier runs off to find the manager (I should mention that while half-a-dozen employees were milling around this section of the garden center, only one register was open). While the manager and cashier are gesticulating at each other at a distance, Mulch Fetishist Lady turns to me and says “Do you have any experience with this mulch?”
“Lady, it’s just Fucking Mulch fer crying out loud! It’ll disintegrate in a few months, the woodchucks will shit all over it, what the hell do you care? Just buy some goddamned mulch and get out of my way!!”
Alright, I just thought that. Eventually the manager comes over and gets into an even more involved discussion with Mulch Fetishist Lady. Before I am irretrievably tempted into violence, another register opens up, and I move my cart there - behind an elderly man on oxygen who is slooowly debating a bagged soil purchase with two employees behind the counter. He cannot be rushed, unless I want to risk the need for CPR.
Eventually, as spring turns into summer, the conversation drags to a close (without the old guy actually buying anything) and I am able to purchase my bags of soil. “Do you want a separate receipt so you can apply for the rebate?” “Jesus NO, just gimme the dirt!!!”
A colleague of mine (who lives in a ritzier neighborhood than I do) tells me that neighbors have approached him to try to get him to agree to buy the same style and color of mulch as they do, to achieve front yard uniformity.
I tell you, mulch mania is a sickness, only exceeded by lava rock enthusiasts.