This week was my week again to mow the grass at church. We have an enormous property, and it typically takes five to six hours to mow it all on a very good industrial riding mower. Of course, today and tomorrow will likely be the hottest days of the summer, which makes mowing miserable. So rather than wait for things to warm up, I got started at 6:45 this morning.
I remind you, we've not had much rain, and no one irrigates the lawn at church, so it's pretty much a parched wasteland of dead brown grass with enormous green weeds every so often. It looked to me like last week someone didn't mow an acre or so behind the pond and another acre in the back of the property--my clue was not that the grass was long, but that those parts had been overwhelmed by deep purple clover. So I mowed them, in the process awakening a zillion tiny bugs from their peaceful slumber to swarm my face, mouth, eyes, ears, and hair.
Normally, I very much enjoy mowing. But today's experience was an exercise in frustration. Between the ever increasing heat, the swarms of deer flies, those stupid shoot like weeds that were the only thing I was actually cutting--and even so, only about one in three of them actually cuts when you ride over them with the mower--I gave up after a couple hours and called it good enough.
We need some stinking rain.
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