While
the yard is still free of snow, we really should finish the job of raking the
last of the leaf fall that now rests sparsely about. The culprits are the black
oaks, who hold tenaciously to their sere leaves well after the cast offs of
their brilliant neighbors have been tidied to the side of the yard.
It is
easy to justify overlooking this chore, now that our enthusiasm for autumn
raking has come and gone. We may as well put the rakes in the barn, though to
do so necessitates seeing the snow shovels that rest inside the door, and it’s
difficult to swap one big job in anticipation of another.
The
yard around the barn, from the garden down by the lower woods to the back porch
is a strange patchwork. Now that the summer crab has died back to yellow and brown,
there are sadly few greens to be found, save for the curious islands of thyme
which have aggressively established. Sarah grew thyme in a spot near the
foundation years ago, and since it has sought fit to spread outward into the
yard. In the summer, when I would mow, either my foot on trampling or the blade
upon cutting would release the distinct herbal odor, making the area smell
vaguely of cooking.
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