The Hissing Of Summer Lawns

The plant nerd went for a walk in the spring meadow. Despite the visible tracks and editing carcasses, the meadow was still in a state of sublime. It is too soon to whack, he thought.

The maintenance gardener was following behind casing the joint.

What to do? What to do? My other eyeball is getting sliced open next week and I am supposed to relax and take it easy through the weekend. I certainly don't want to get flying debris into a freshly sliced eyeball.

The Sisters are coming the following weekend and I need to get to Bulbarella's boyfriend's house for his once a month on a weekend haircut. If my meadow looks like this, his semi-wild pollinator garden is surely due for some garden making definition. I am completely booked. There is no wiggle room.

The maintenance gardener forged ahead. His schedule rules.

I gave my self two evenings and a Sunday to cover three acres of goat paths. The maintenance gardener had to remember how and warm up to another season of weed whacking. He doesn't like doing it all at once anyway. No need. It is his garden.

The whacking went well. Fast and simple. It's like riding a bicycle. Decades of practice have taught the maintenance gardener how to use a string trimmer like a fine musical instrument. Some people can make great music. Others can't, no matter how good the instrument.

The fidgety plant nerd was following behind. The maintenance gardener knows what he is doing. The garden was still in a state of sublime. And now easier to get close and fondle the plants.

The Sisters will be just fine with old mowed paths.

I can refresh them while they are here.

The plant nerd did put his foot down about one thing. The Great Lawn would have to wait. Maybe it will still be doing fun things when the Sisters get here.