The “Party” on Saturday had all of the appearances of being a success. By the time the house was empty and the ticky-tacky leftovers were put away I could once again hit the lazy-boy and reflect on the past couple of weeks of labor and feel good that it was all over…Sunday dawned without me as I slept in later than I have in quite a while. Spending the day Sunday chasing after two normal weekend days of chasing errands, It felt good to again while away the evening.
My big chore that has been put on hold with all of the honey-dos rising to the top of the frothy heap is the mowing. Now understand, we have arrived at the prime part of our grass growing season. During this part of the year when nothing of any consequence grows in SE Texas, given any moisture at all, grass grows extremely well.
So as the sun sinks into each evening this week I’ll be riding the Deere around my “pasture“. Thinking the thoughts of hills and mountains as I make the journey around and around with the hum of the motor drowning out all other thoughts…My only companions the multitude of dragonflies that fill the air like alien warships in some science fiction movie.
The Rural Life – Out in the Pasture – Editorial – NYTimes.com
There is a spring to the turf and small clumps of the bird’s-foot trefoil I seeded. I never go into the pasture without thinking about lying on my back and staring up at the stars. Once a cool fall night comes that’s what I’ll do.
Looking at the pasture now is like looking at the face of a friend who has grown gaunt over the years. When the shadows lengthen I can see how the pasture tumbles downhill. If the earth were water, this would be a roaring rapid. Winter heaves stones to the surface, and the other seasons re-absorb them. But nothing has changed the topography of this pasture. I came here seeing what I expected to see, and it has taken me all this time to see what the pasture had to show me.