One day about fifteen years ago, back when I still lived in Tucson, Arizona, I was in a chat room when I heard a knock on my door.
"Brb," I typed, "have to pay gardener." The response was electric. You'd think I'd announced that I had to go instruct the maid to serve afternoon tea on the east portico rather than the conservatory. One comment that has stayed in my mind this whole time, a chatter said to me, "Oh, LA!"
Reverse snob that I am, I told my on-line buddies that I lived in Tucson, and there are two things that the poor majority don't have: air conditioners and lawns. We have to make do with swamp coolers and sparse weeds. I never owned a lawn mower in Arizona, there was no point. We had a gardener come through our neighborhood every couple of weeks, and for just a few bucks, he'd run his weed whacker around the base of the prickly pears and along the walkways where the crabgrass struggled to live.
When we moved to Arizona, I had an extensive collection of bromiliads. Despite all my efforts, within six months, all my bromiliads were dead. There was a nice stand of oleanders in the back yard, but almost nothing actually thrived in that climate. We didn't have soil. Just dirt of the leanest, most unthrifty kind. I would sometimes look out at the scruffy, stunted trees, the terra cotta colored bare ground and the bleached, cloudless sky and wish.
I wanted to go somewhere where GOD would water the grass. Most of you, friends, grew up in the midwest, and you're familiar with the acres and acres of lush trees covering the rolling hills. You've seen the corn and soybean fields in Illinois, the cattle dotting the pastures in Missouri, and you know yourself, if you don't do something about your yard, everything will continue to grow, grow, grow. The default setting here is green life. God sends rain and sunshine enough to cover the ground with a rich variety of plants.
At long last, my wish is coming true. Since I was a young girl, I dreamed of a place in the country where I could have not just house pets, but farm animals, too. This past week, I signed papers on my new property in Louisburg, Missouri, (population 149 in 2000), and I will be moving onto my minifarm in August.
The area surrounding Louisburg is acres of temperate forest and pastures. The main crops are grass fed beef cattle and hay. God waters the grass indeed.
"Brb," I typed, "have to pay gardener." The response was electric. You'd think I'd announced that I had to go instruct the maid to serve afternoon tea on the east portico rather than the conservatory. One comment that has stayed in my mind this whole time, a chatter said to me, "Oh, LA!"
Reverse snob that I am, I told my on-line buddies that I lived in Tucson, and there are two things that the poor majority don't have: air conditioners and lawns. We have to make do with swamp coolers and sparse weeds. I never owned a lawn mower in Arizona, there was no point. We had a gardener come through our neighborhood every couple of weeks, and for just a few bucks, he'd run his weed whacker around the base of the prickly pears and along the walkways where the crabgrass struggled to live.
When we moved to Arizona, I had an extensive collection of bromiliads. Despite all my efforts, within six months, all my bromiliads were dead. There was a nice stand of oleanders in the back yard, but almost nothing actually thrived in that climate. We didn't have soil. Just dirt of the leanest, most unthrifty kind. I would sometimes look out at the scruffy, stunted trees, the terra cotta colored bare ground and the bleached, cloudless sky and wish.
I wanted to go somewhere where GOD would water the grass. Most of you, friends, grew up in the midwest, and you're familiar with the acres and acres of lush trees covering the rolling hills. You've seen the corn and soybean fields in Illinois, the cattle dotting the pastures in Missouri, and you know yourself, if you don't do something about your yard, everything will continue to grow, grow, grow. The default setting here is green life. God sends rain and sunshine enough to cover the ground with a rich variety of plants.
At long last, my wish is coming true. Since I was a young girl, I dreamed of a place in the country where I could have not just house pets, but farm animals, too. This past week, I signed papers on my new property in Louisburg, Missouri, (population 149 in 2000), and I will be moving onto my minifarm in August.
The area surrounding Louisburg is acres of temperate forest and pastures. The main crops are grass fed beef cattle and hay. God waters the grass indeed.
