2020-05-04 – In all the biblical warnings about the trials and tribulations of the apocalypse, I don’t remember reading anything about yard care. Yet here we are.

This was not a huge issue for the first month of isolation. The weather was still too cold. We examined each bud in the yard for a promise of spring. But nothing seemed to be happening. But that all changed in the last couple of weeks. The magnolia bloomed. The forsythia bloomed. The tulip grew.

And then there was the grass.

At first it took on a more vibrant hue of green. And slowly, slowly it began to grow. And I began to think that soon it would have to be mowed. But next week.

Well, this was the week.

Kit got the supplies: oil and gas for the mower, flowers and tools for the garden. She (being the one of us who is mechanically inclined) got the mower started. My skill set enables me to push the thing back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

We waited a week too long to mow.

But now it’s done. Next, we pulled weeds from the garden patches. I can manage that task, too. Except that I need to sit on a small cart we have so I can move from one spot to the other without straining my knees and without having to get up.

Finally, we planted flowers with the help of a couple neighborhood children.

What was so apocalyptic about a normal Sunday in the garden? We did this all wearing masks and gloves and maintaining an appropriate social distance.

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