Tag Archives: Mowing

For The Second Time In Two Weeks, I Mow


Bee on flower this afternoon. Second honey bee sighting in my garden this year.

Mow, mow, mow. How you like how you like it, mow, mow, mow.

If my evil plan worked, then some of my sisters now have a disco-era earworm going. You’re welcome.

Today was a combination of summer falling into fall. We had rain twice this week (twice!), and so this weekend I had to mow. I know that in years past, mowing each weekend seemed like the norm, but this year is far from normal and mowing felt a little weird, like voting for a Republican or some other improbable fluke of the universe. (Don’t get your hopes up Mitt. Ain’t gonna happen. I thought you did OK on your Tampa speech, by the way, but it was before a whole room full of crazy, and Barack, by comparison, knocked your argyle socks off in Charlotte).

Anyway, I usually walk the yard with a big blue bucket in hand, collecting spare sticks courtesy of the 30 trees in my tiny yard (not much of an exaggeration, by the way) before I mow. But, although the trees are still green, they’ve dropped an unusual number of early leaves, so I had to rake before mowing.

Well, I guess raking in September doesn’t seem like a weird thing to do. So I did rake. My philosophy on raking is to limit it to only a couple of times a season, so this did feel like an extra rake, but necessary given the early carpet. And, given the growth of young trees from years past, honestly I’ll have to get used to a lot more raking in the future.

Then, I mowed, and trimmed. The yard looks pretty green and spiffy right now.


Don’t recall this flower’s name–Silva? Salva? Saliva? Help, blog fans. Anyway, this perennial is in bloom for the second time year. Note how neatly trimmed the yard is behind it . True story.

Not that there aren’t some signs of the drought that dominated our weather this year. Of the eight young trees I planted this year, only four survive. The latest to apparently expire was the lone oak, which is a bit of a shame because I don’t have any colorful oaks, and I was hoping this one would survive. I’ll leave it until spring, in the hopes that it went dormant early and didn’t really kick the bucket, but, honestly, I think it’s pushing daisies.

What survive are a dogwood, a sweet gum (that I’m not sure Audrey is aware of, shhhh) and two maples. One of the maples is in the garden because it was a “spare” tree that I put there to transplant later in case the mortality rate among trees in the yard was high.

High, it was. Next spring, little maple friend, it’s likely that you will have a move—but we’ll wait until spring to see what’s dead and what’s alive (and honestly, my little tree friend, of all the four survivors, you’re the lamest and least likely to make it through winter, but you’re alive today, so good luck).

Anyway, what did I think of while raking and mowing? Maybe I was just grateful that Audrey was painting our bedroom and I was raking and mowing. True story.

Maybe I was thinking of all the school work I should be doing rather than playing outside on this fine fall day. Another true story.

Maybe I was hoping the Hawks would succumb to the Cyclones. I’m not much of a sports fan, but in the in-state rivalry, I’m for the U I went to for a year and that two of my kids attended or are attending. I is for ISU. Another true story, and guess what, LOL, smiley face—go Cyclones!

Though, as some might observe, rather than watching the game I was watching the grass grow as I cut it off. Again, true.

Well, enough truth for today. Some flowers are still blooming, and while nights are cooling, summer isn’t really totally gone yet. Even migrating birds are hanging out still—I saw a hummingbird on my Rose o f Sharon this morning. Summer will be gone when the hummingbirds are, and when the big maple kicks in and there’s six inches of leaves on the deck.

Then, raking won’t be a quick, pleasant 45-minute walk in the yard before a mow, but an all-day, back-testing chore.

No wonder I only want to do it twice in a fall!



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The Hobo Farmer Returns!

My son-in-law once came into our house concerned because an odd figure was hanging around in the woods behind the house—a suspicious character he described as a “weird hobo farmer.”

Well, you probably guessed it. I am the weird hobo farmer. I tend to wear old stained blue jeans, an old stained shirt, and old stained straw hat and dirty work gloves when working in my gardens.

Today was a hobo farmer day for me, one of the first of 2011. I trimmed the bushes by the back deck, planted some daffodils Audrey had been given and mowed the front lawn for the first time this season.

Before mowing, I walked up to the neighborhood Road Ranger to buy gas. Audrey walked with me, and as we started, she speculated that I might want to toss my hat and gloves over our fence. I didn’t, but I’m sure she wanted me to. She didn’t seem to want to be seen with the weird hobo farmer. But he didn’t care.

Anyway, I begin the mowing season with mixed emotions. It’s nice that the grass is green and getting long enough to mow, but mowing is not my favorite thing.

Still, the bushes and grass have been appropriately cut. The Arbor Day trees remain either dead or asleep, but I’m thinking that I saw tiny buds are starting to show on a Catalpa, knock on wood.

It was cool and cloudy and I worked pretty hard out there today—and time to garden is tight during the school year. But, I’m glad to have my hobo clothes back on again!

Weird Hobo Farmer

Me. Or a Weird Hobo Farmer. Or both.


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