IT’S RAINED a lot recently, and that means work. Yuck!
I don’t mow the lawn anymore. I’ve, uh, outgrown it. I farm it out, so to speak, to the deadpan neighbor named Abel who has no brother called Cain. That I know of. He does have a brother, however. Probably named Pablo.
Abel came Saturday for the first mow of the season. The rainy days have not arrived in full force just yet. It’s a touch early. But it’s been coming down more than normal for May, and the grass is gobbling it up, turning green, and growing at an incredible pace, especially around the edges.
This photo shows a corner in the yard, very near the dining room window, so we look at this corner quite a bit. Two-thirds of it was planted years back by my child bride who has the annoying habit of putting down things that spread. Then she goes about her business, baking pastries and leaving her plant mischief to me. I do so wish she would not do that.
There are three things growing in that corner. A philodendron, the centerpiece which I planted, and the stuff she planted: that ground cover — a real hog-wild spreader — and the vine growing up the wall, another constant battle for me, not her.
I have to keep that vine from crawling over into the neighbor’s property (They are grumpy people) on the left and over into our Garden Patio on the right. I call it the Garden Patio back there because it’s where I store yard gear. It’s not attractive. But the name’s nice.
Garden Patio. Sounds like a grand place to sit, but it isn’t. It’s concrete and a buried water tank.
The rains of summer bring major changes to our world. It cools us off. It puts mud on our boots and constant puddles on our terrazas, niggling stuff to deal with. But the overall effect is positive, mostly because it keeps us cool through summertime. And the world turns lovely.
Here at 7,200 feet above the not-so-distant Pacific shores.