Going, Going, Gone!

 

by Pa Rock

Farmer in the Pit of Summer

The grass in my yard is turning brown.  I am sitting in front of the living room window watching it turn brown.  It is browner now than it was fifteen minutes ago.  Soon it will begin to crinkle and crunch under my feet when I walk outside.

That's the bad news, and it is almost entirely due to a devastating climate change that the earth is currently experiencing, a major change in weather patterns and related events, like massive wildfires, that are the direct result of centuries of man raping the planet of its resources while doing almost nothing that would be of longterm benefit to life on our fragile little biosphere.

As a result the earth is dying, in real time, and many of us who did not plan on being around when that happened are, nevertheless, gasping for clean air as we rush from air-conditioner to air-conditioner and frantically try to see some hope for a livable future, at least one which can sustain us through the rest of this summer.  We will worry about next summer later - that is the American way.

And while I typed that shard of doom and gloom, the grass in my yard just got a little browner - I watched it happen!

The good news is that while my yard in a deeper shade of brown, it is almost completely mowed and looks nice, even in brown.  I have had a troubled spring and summer with health issues, an my son stepped up and announced that he was taking on the responsibility of mowing - and I was so beaten down just trying to breathe that I relented and got out of his way.  Today most of the yard is freshly mowed, and the part that isn't doesn't look all that bad,  It should be finished in one more brief session.  

Add to that the fact that good neighbor, Rex, came by the last two days and did that early summer brush-hogging on the part that I never mow, and the place now looks catalogue-perfect.  

I carry water to the hanging baskets, a few tomato and pepper plants,  and the rosebushes every evening.  Tonight I will probably add the young dogwood trees to my watering routine.  All of those things remain colorful little ornaments scattered across a sea of brown lawn.  

The temperature is supposed to reach 102 degrees Fahrenheit where I live this afternoon, so I will wait until almost dark before I go out to water.

Did I mention that we have brought this hell upon ourselves - and that we continue to do so?