More Mowing

With the gracious help of Edmund and Garth's father Lach, we are maintaining our resistance against unruly monocultures. The golden rod has just lit up our pastures, and we are eager to set it back. Both Edmund and Garth's unanimous distaste for machine work is inversely represented in Lachy, who is content to spend hours meticulously leveling these vast stretches. God bless him. His efforts were stopped short when, upon encountering the densest swarths, the drive wheel of the mower overheated and shattered in action. Enough was enough. The part won't be in until Wednesday, so the opposition has a little more time to dig in its heels.

Walking back from feeding the chickens yesterday, I ran into Datura. She had wandered away from the herd with her sister Lillyvale, breaching the electric line in an area weakened by tall grass, no doubt. I stopped to admire her. Isn't she beautiful? Edmund and Garth chased them back in a few hours later, which was easily done because they couldn't resist the companionship offered within their old confines.

Tall grass has a clinginess that cut grass lacks. It folds around my boots, clutching and then releasing. The bedstraw tangles and confuses my steps. Cut grass is not so jealous. It has been chastened, but will return stronger with less competition, we hope.

-Alanna