When I was a kid, someone used weed killer to write a bad word on our neighbor’s lawn. My dad found out who but told the lady next door he’d handled it.

When I was a teen I asked my dad if he’d talked to their dad or what. He said no, he poured three boxes of powdered milk on their lawn and when they turned on the sprinkler overnight it all turned to milk so they had white suds on the lawn the next morning. That afternoon, after the Mississippi sun had baked it for 3–4 hours, it smelled like… sour milk. And you can’t really wash a lawn.

I’ve kept that idea for years but alas or thankfully no one has ever messed with my lawn.