by Robert Louis Stevenson
The gardener does not love to talk,
He makes me keep the gravel walk;
And when he puts his tools away,
He locks the door and takes the key.
Away behind the currant row
Where no one else but cook may go,
Far in the plots, I see him dig
Old and serious, brown and big.
He digs the flowers, green, red and blue,
Nor wishes to be spoken to.
He digs the flowers and cuts the hay,
And never seems to want to play.
Silly gardener! summer goes,
And winter comes with pinching toes,
When in the garden bare and brown
You must lay your barrow down.
Well now, and while the summer stays
To profit by these garden days
O how much wiser you would be
To come and play and dig with me!
I have never minded mowing grass, as long as I have a reliable lawn mower that starts easily. It's one of those mindless chores that is satisfying, kind of like washing dishes, you feel like you have accomplished something when you get done. The only thing worse than mowing grass when you have a yard, is not having grass to mow, either from drought, a plague of varmints or mechanical destruction. Then you are left with the daunting task of trying to regrow grass, which sounds easy, but never is for the average homeowner, myself included. We recently had a new septic field installed and it resulted in over a quarter acre of the yard being torn up. We immediately put out seed and gently harrowed it in, crossing our fingers it will grow enough before dormancy sets in from cold temperatures, so that we will have something other than mud come spring.
This isn't just any mud, its the slipperiest of clay on rather steep hills. Without grass growing the yard is a treacherous eye-sore. Let's hope the pictures of a nice thick lawn in thirty days on the bags of grass seed I purchased are true. A year ago the yard was ravaged by pocket gophers and moles, but at least there was grass to ravage. Next time the varmints are at it again, I'll be more grateful for their presence, a sign that the white grubs that they were eating, (June bug larvae) were to the lawn's liking, rather than the barren muddy landscape that exists today.
We take several things for granted in the Minnesota; it rains enough to keep our yards alive and hay to bale, and when it doesn't rain the drought is mercilessly short. We typically average 3 to 4 inches a month during the growing season and for my 60 years, it isn't something we have to think about. There is the grateful hot dry stretch in July and August where the weather gives you a little break from weekly grass mowing chores, but the dry period doesn't last long and September rains typically green things up and give the trees a drink before we head into winter. This year is the third year in a row, where moisture is anything but reliable for farmers needing hay for their livestock and everyone else who has grass to maintain. What has become the norm is there is too much rain in places that don't need it (like downtown Duluth in the past week) and not enough where we rely upon it, like Wright County. How will our landscapes change if this becomes the new norm of an endless stretch of growing seasons of extremes? Our landscapes will fundamentally change. Living on a property served only by our own well the thoughts of aquifers below my feet are very present and real. Water is not something that I can take for granted, not even in Minnesota in the land of 10,000 lakes.
(Footnote: In the past several days since I wrote this original blog, we got 7.5 inches of rain, 2 months worth in four days.)
Fresh Cut Grass
by Paul Colvin
The fresh cut grass, that summer scent
That smell of summer, Heaven sent
I used to squeeze it in my fingers
Shreds of green, its smell still lingers.
The whirring blades just spinning round
As bales of grass grew on the ground
I'd scoop it up and throw it high
Then take a dive and then just lie,
Or dive right into all that green
And like a magnet, stuck between
Every hair and every pore,
In all the clothes I ever wore
Would smell of grass and I somehow
Still find wee bits, yes, even now
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