Did we have a wet winter? Did the weeds and grass grow higher than an elephant’s eye?
Don’t even say it. My grass, around my house, buildings, and in the field, was so thick and so high that my curious cat, Cleo, could, quite easily, get lost three feet into the grass.
If she did, I would have to go looking for her. I would probably get lost as well. Then what? Would the Fire Department and the whole County have to go to work to find Cleo and me before we starved to death, lost somewhere on my land? If, and when, they found me, I would have to spend all my Social Security and my small pension to pay off the County debt for the search.
I had to cut the grass fast before it grew any taller, thicker and tougher. The weeds were growing thicker and tougher every day. It would soon be necessary to saw the weeds like I was cutting down trees.
For my survival and protection, I had to cut the grass before it got so high and thick that once I left home to do my shopping, I would no longer be able to find my house.
Weed whacking grass has side benefits. I admit it is good exercise for one as advanced in his years as I. It helps keep whatever is behind me from catching up.
What complicated my job is that my house, garage, and barn, do not sit on nice flat ground.
Fifty years ago, when I built my house, I made the youthful, and reckless decision to build on my hill… instead of the nice flat pasture next door. That was okay. I have a nice view of the valley and what my neighbors are doing that’s interesting.
Still, going up and down the hillsides to cut the grass, makes weed whacking what should be an Olympic Sport.
My knee joints no longer work like they did when I was a young and callow youth of seventy years of age. My knees need oiling, or more cartilage, or younger knees.
That’s OK, too. I can handle that problem if I go slow and watch my step.
While Cleo watched and supervised me at a safe distance, so I would not, accidently, weed-whack her tail, I tackled the job; the entire acre of grass. I cut grass, a little at a time each day.
Before long I finished 90 percent weed-whacking the dry grass around my House, Garage, and Barn. Was I tired? Don’t even say it. E
ach day, as I chopped down a small part of the weed forest, I ended up as weak as a baby and barely able to find my way back up the hill to my front door.
I’ve had harder jobs but I can’t remember when. Bit when the work was nearly finished I felt accomplished. However, I still had to be careful I don’t slip, fall, and roll down the hill into the pond. If that happens, luckily, I have my faithful cat, Cleo, watching me.
I will send her for help.
