LAST WEEK, I mowed my lawn for the third time this year, which in my opinion has been three times too many.

That is an opinion not shared by my lovely wife, who firmly believes lawns should be mowed on a timely basis, which to her is at least twice a week, ending only when a foot of snow covers the lawn. However, still in the midst of our 50-year ongoing battle over how often I should mow the lawn, I finally found an ally.

That ally is a certifiably insane retired pathologist who now only wishes to cut nothing but boards and other pieces of wood into beautifully handcrafted flower boxes, sconces, lamps, tables and other home decoration pieces for the rest of his life.

Last week, honking his horn as he always does when passing our house, he noticed that I was nearly ready to expire while pushing a lawn mower around our yard.

Later, he texted me “Why do we try to make our lawns look like a Milwaukee suburban lawn? Have you ever considered how many daisies, Indian paintbrushes, blueberry bushes, raspberry bushes, wintergreens and countless flowering plants we cut down?”

Finally, he added “I have been trying to mow around the daisies at my place. Should Razorback Road go natural.”

First of all, let me note that he is lucky that after years of insistence from friends, I have finally expanded my technological capabilities so that I could receive his text message.

Wanting to avoid the mental strain that goes with me trying to hit tiny little buttons on my cell phone, I chose to respond to his text with this missive, which I am typing on a full-sized laptop keyboard. Who would have thunk I would come to this sort of technological expertise?

Anyway, bottom line is that I believe lawns in the North Woods should be left to dazzle and display with uncontrolled waves of black-eyed Susans, daisies, wood violets, hawkweed, milkweed and all other such specimens of wildflowers, each blooming to their season.

In the nine flower beds that dot my lawn, along with a row or so along my driveway bank where it drops into a small valley, I have as large a variety of blooming flowers as my pocketbook will allow; more than that if you ask my lovely wife.

Over the years, I have tried adding a number of wild-type flowers to my beds. Northern bedstraw, for one, turned out to be a rampant spreader which I finally controlled with a lot of pulling and confining efforts in and around a clump of day lilies.

I also have had at one time or another, such wild beauties as butter and eggs, ratibida, solidago, Queen Anne’s lace, yarrow and others, some for many years, others for a short time before they died out on their own for whatever reason.

So yes, I wholeheartedly agree with my summer friend down the road. Wildflowers should be kept in abundance across the entirety of one’s lawn with the permission, of course, of the lady of the house.

That said, just because the lady of my house insists on a lawn that is mowed on a regular basis, doesn’t mean that I can’t enjoy the beauty of wildflowers anywhere I choose to walk or ride in the woods of north Wisconsin.

Just last week, I found a roadside stretch lined with fireweed in full bloom. Fireweed is considered a nuisance invasive by some folks, but I consider it to be one of the most strikingly beautiful wildflowers you can find.

On the water, while fishing small, backwoods lakes, I spend much time oohing and aahing over blooming water lilies, white and yellow, throughout their blooming season. In spring, there is no flower more beautiful than marsh marigolds. They simply light up the surrounding grasses and plant life with which they share space in wetland areas.

Pickerel weed is undesirable to some people, but to me a thick stand of them in full purple bloom makes a beautiful lakeshore all the more beautiful to look at.

Another spring bloomer I always check out at some of my favorite lowland ponds is flag iris. I tried getting them going in a flower bed one time after adding much swamp moss to the dirt, but even with profuse watering they didn’t survive so now, I reserve my appreciation for them when I see them in my woodland haunts.

The list could go on and on, but it probably wouldn’t be complete without mention of wild cranberries. There is a place I have been intimately acquainted with for six decades and each fall, I can’t help myself but going there to find and eat a few of the wild berries. Sour isn’t the word for it, but each fall, I do it again just because I can’t resist.

So to my lovely wife and all others who insist on well-kept lawns: a pox on you.

One of these years, I will find the courage — or the insanity — to defy the lady of my house and let the whole yard go natural.

It’s a dream, but don’t hold your breath.