Another season of pointless harvests
It might be the throaty growl of the neighbour’s “zero turn mower”, (a subliminal trigger), or the carefully arranged yellow-on-green foliage, but we are into another season of pointless harvests. The lawn. It takes time to start (blame it on the weather), but suddenly everything is getting taller. And so with a vengeance, things must be placed under the spinning blades of our own yellow-on-green “mean machine”.
I am a bystander; not yet rated to fly low over the property. I can fetch gas, and push the beast out of the garage, but the eventual responsibility belongs to another. I had been warned. Pave it all and paint things green, said my friend. Well, I didn’t find anyone locally that does that sort of lawn care, so we’re in for another season of regular cuts.
Imagine if we planted something useful. Oats. Or barley. Instead, we went for the preferred weed of North American property owners. Mimic the golf course, even if you have never played a round. Pretend that the neighbours care (they may, if only to avoid a shower of dandelion seeds in a prevailing wind). The rabbits? If only the little brown furballs would come and trim things back. They don’t.
What about goats? Supposed to be good at the job, if you remember to lengthen and shorten the ropes at the appropriate moment. Or sheep, but goats are much smarter. Besides, our dog has only rudimentary shepherd skills; he tries to steer me toward the door, several times a day. No, we are doomed to a mechanical “solution”.
