Ode to Prairie Rehab

I always thought it would be a great gig to work for the highway department. I have an ultra-high-stress job, and I've always wondered what it would be like to be able to make good money and hold a sign with "STOP" on one side and "SLOW" on the other. I marveled at the amount of brainpower it must take and the stress level one must endure to avoid turning the sign at the wrong time and causing a devastating collision. What would happen if you inadvertently lost track of which side was which? Traffic bedlam and anarchy would ensue! But seriously, lots of days as I pass them on my way home from work, nails bitten to the quick and intestines tightened from another daily bout of IBS, I would trade with them in a heartbeat.

But my admiration for the highway department reached its pinnacle years ago when I began noticing the "Prairie Rehab" signs posted in the 'grassy' cloverleaf loops of the local interstates. Genius! I'm sure the heads of the highway department had a series of closed-door meetings to discuss the serious nature of how to best use the no-man's land in the middle of all those onramps. The conversations probably went something like this:
Head Honcho: What do we do with all the crap left over from the last highway expansion?
Lackey: What crap do you mean?
HH: You know, the left over gravel, rubble, tire shreds, bulldozer treads, two-sided signs, cones, and that seat that fell off the Bobcat.
Lackey: Oh that. I dunno.
HH: Hey, I've got it! Let's dump it all in the middle of that crappy area between the cloverleafs off the interstate.
Lackey: And bury it there?
HH: Bury it hell! We'll just dump it there.
Lackey: But people will complain. Won't it be unsightly?
HH: Unsightly hell! We'll let the grass grow around it. No one will see it!
Lackey: But there's no grass there.
HH: Grass. Weeds. What's the difference?
Lackey: But the taxpayers won't stand for overgrown weeds in the middle of their cloverleafs!
HH: Weeds-schmeeds. We'll slap a big metal sign on the edge of it that says "Prairie Rehab". Those tree-hugging suburban do-gooders will eat it up! Pretty soon, they'll be stopping their cars on the shoulder to look for wildlife! And you know what the best part is?
Lackey: No...
HH: We never have to mow it again! It's a "Prairie Rehab"! God forbid we mow through the natural flora!
Lackey: Genius!

Genius indeed. I'm so jealous of not thinking of that on my own. I am, however, not opposed to borrowing the idea for my own front yard. Think of the possibilities. Just slap a metal sign next to the curb that says "Prairie Rehab." The neighbors will think I'm a complete environmentalist. I'll never have to mow again! Folks can bring their kids to walk through a real prairie, just like Laura Ingalls! I could stand outside in overalls and pick a weed and stick it in my mouth, looking very nostalgic, while I DON'T mow my lawn. Dogs can mark that prairie all they want. I won't see it. I won't care! Even the rednecks on the block would appreciate it. ("Hey Ma! That wacky enviro-mental guy's a'lettin his grass grow. Now's the time to get rid of that old Ford in the driveway. We can just dump it in that there prairie!") If I push hard enough, perhaps I can gain status as a State Park and charge for parking along the curb. The possibilities are appearing astronomical...

Genius indeed. Thanks highway department. I might not ever experience the challenges of operating the two-sided sign, but I can still bask in the grandeur of your "Prairie Rehab" ingenuity.