I was gone for two weeks, and when I came home, my yard looked like a hay field. In my absence, a tropical storm had come up from the Gulf of Mexico, and poured copious amounts of rain on my town, as well as the rest of the Carolinas. Plus, it’s spring, and you know…growing season.
So my first day back, I waited until evening for the grass to dry out and the air to cool down, and I mowed. It put me in mind of the summer my sister and I mowed her yard/acreage, then raked and tossed the grass over the fence to her baby steers. Because, grass-fed.
I don’t have steers. And I didn’t rake, as I was finishing up under large droplets of rain.
And I don’t rake, anyway. I don’t really have grass, either. When I moved into my tiny house, I decided that I was NOT going to spend money on a “lawn.” People here do that.
I’d raked the gravel in my yard in Arizona, to make it look nice. Grass-ish yards were a half-lifetime of foreign-ness to me.
I do have a hellvua lot of Creeping Charlie and some sort of jointed grass-like weed I mow, and as I mowed the other night, I began to consider hiring someone to come make me a “lawn.” Later, I reconsidered my priorities, and decided to continue to maintain my stance on spending money on grass.
When it’s all done, my yard looks as good as the next, and I feel as much a sense of accomplishment after mowing my weeds as I would mowing real Blue Grass, so there ya go. Talked myself out of that one. Hoo-boy.
That’s my “other” cemetery across the street, Silver Hill Cemetery, est. 1892. An update on that in another post. It looks like a hay field right now, too.