Advice to Mowers

Bushy Bluestem (Click to enlarge)

 

Not
all grass
wants cutting;
not every sedge
seeks out the sharpened
scythe. Seed-heavy, slender,
spread without restraint or care
they nod before the rising wind,
weaving and whispering deep-rooted 
wisdom – the heart of the prairie preserved.

 

Comments always are welcome. The photo of the Texas native grass, called bushy bluestem, is mine.
For more information on the Etheree, a syllabic poem that, in its basic form, contains ten lines and a total of fifty-five syllables, please click here.

94 thoughts on “Advice to Mowers

    1. Thank you, Myra. This spring was my first time to find green and growing bushy bluestem, and I was quite taken with it. It may be my favorite of our native grasses.

    1. I imagine you’re eager for a number of reasons. Happy prairi-fi-cation, and happy wetlanding. I hope you get whatever your equivalent to this would be. Who knows? One day I may get to see it.

    1. Oh, that’s me being silly, Martha. Sometimes when I’m processing photos, I just throw a name on them that will be easy to remember. Since this was a young plant, it became the “baby.” The link at the bottom of the post gives the common name (bushy bluestem) and a link to a site with all the particulars.

      It’s a beautiful plant in the fall.

  1. My sentiments exactly. The concept of “lawn” is a very environmentally destructive one. Intelligent, environmentally friendly planning and planting takes the work out of yardwork.

    1. When I was growing up in the suburbs, I had no idea that the concept of “lawn” had a history. All I knew was that my folks and their neighbors had a tendency to judge one another by the quality of their lawns: hence, all that dandelion digging. I’ll admit that running barefoot through the soft, smooth grass was a delight, but there certainly was a cost in terms of time, fertilizers, and herbicides.

      We’ve come a long way from the days when people thought the only alternative was gravel.

    1. You’ve reminded me of the first time I went looking for Nash Prairie. My impulse was to assume a nearby field filled with flowers was the prairie, and the swath of land filled with grasses of various sorts — really quite untidy! — was just a vacant lot.

      Eventually, someone with prairie smarts straightened me out. All those flowers were invasives that had moved into an overgrazed field. And those grasses? They were the sign of a healthy prairie.

    1. Terry, those unmowed patches and irregular patterns are the reason you can stumble across treasures like those orchids you found recently. Beyond that, think how many creatures you’re providing food and shelter for. Butterflies and bees are pretty obvious, but they’re hardly the full story.

    1. My mother used to talk about that aroma as one of the best things about playing in her grandfather’s hay mow. When they mow the grass at the marina where I do most of my work, that wonderful green smell floats on the air, but a cut hayfield beats it, hands down. Of course, cut alfalfa’s pretty nice, too.

    1. I think your shepherd probably appreciates the grassy hills, too. I know that his sheep do! You’re experiencing as much building as we are, Nia. I hope they plan for a little green space, to go along with all that construction.

  2. I feel the same way about all grassy places. If not for consideration toward my neighbors I would certainly not mow our yard. My neighbor treats his lawn so he only has grass and no other plants. How boring is his monoculture. So many wonderful plants and insects thrive in unmowed environments. More birds come to feed on the bugs and seeds. Life on our little acre is more interesting that way.

    1. Some mowing’s necessary, of course: especially for safety. Even the wildlife refuges I visit engage in roadside mowing and trimming on a regular basis, especially along primary roads and at intersections. But I’ve learned my lesson. If I see something lovely at the end of the day, I stop. A week is quite enough time for a good-sized swath of countryside to be reduced to three-inch stalks.

      The last time I was in the Hill country, a friend and I really slowed down, and I was amazed by some of the things I saw. As soon as I can get the insects identified, I’ll share what a few of them were up to. Even a twenty-foot square patch of meadow can be a teeming world.

  3. Next to prairie wild flowers, prairie grass is probably one of my favorite growing things…oh, yea and apple trees :-) I am drawn to its resilient quality.

    1. And of course grass isn’t just grass, any more than an apple is just an apple. Why is it that we want to be able to choose from among Jonathans, Delicious, Fuji, Braeburns, Gravensteins, and Cortlands, but we want grass to just be grass? There are so many beautiful native grasses that can thrive if given a chance.

    1. Being able to evoke grasses for you makes me happy, Melissa — you’re certainly one who knows grasses! I’ve only begun paying attention to them — I wouldn’t have dared to try writing about them before this.

      I did find recently that we have a cotton grass, too: Arizona cottongrass, or “Digitaria californica.” I found one bunch of it about a year ago, and have laughed every time I see the photos. It looks like a giant Q-tip. Hooray for variety!

  4. Good timing. The landscape around this part of Iowa looks as you describe. It seems nearly everything is grown to its maximum and is pumping energy into the fruits and seeds. Impressive to watch.

    1. It’s been amazing to watch the change here in only the past couple of weeks. Spring wildflowers have succumbed to the heat, and only the sturdiest flowers are looking bright and cheerful — like the trumpet vine. The tomatoes are gone now, until fall gardens. Otherwise — it’s ripening grain, already seeded grasses, and a wall of green.

      Speaking of summer, it’s summer-weather-time, and I have a feeling you’ll really enjoy this chaser video. That really doesn’t do it justice. He did a fantastic job of putting it together– it’s some of the best footage I’ve seen.

  5. Great verse!

    If we plant grass in a pot, suddenly it’s trendy and safe from chopping – featured in magazines. I’m becoming more and more fascinated by the grassy clans – so lovely when there’s wind. (Pine Gully’s replant seemed to be doing really well…but it’s going to have to cool off before venturing out to check on that again – Gads – back to dust, dry and baking.)

    1. Speaking of the dust, have you noticed the greenish tinge to the sky after sunset? Tonight, it looks like smoke. Honestly, I think I’d take rain with a name before I’d go through drought and fires again — as if we have a choice.

      I’m with you on the cooling off. I want to go over to Nash and Brazoria, just to see what’s up, but when even the early mornings are oven-like, it’s not so appealing. Still, there are things to see. Have you noticed the grass in all the medians with the V-shaped head? I finally figured out that it’s bahiagrass: non-native, but pretty interesting when you get close. It looks like a bracelet you would buy at a high-end shop, don’t you think?

    1. That’s an interesting question. I tend toward letters, journals, and essays rather than fiction. “Where the Sky Began” by John Madson comes to mind. There’s Ferdinand Roemer’s “Texas,” and the letters of Ferdinand Lindheimer to George Englemann. Those early naturalists were as poetic as could be — more poetic than many of our poets, actually.

      I”ve read Larry McMurtry, J. Frank Dobie, and Willa Cather, of course. They’re fine writers, but I’d still take William Least Heat-Moon ahead of them — not his ‘Blue Highways,” but “PrairyErth,” his in-depth study of Chase County, Kansas. If you don’t know it, you can get a sense of it here. Now that I think of it, if I were forced into recomending only one prairie book, it would be “PrairyErth.”

      1. But something just occurred to me, and when I went to the bookshelf, my suspicion was confirmed. Most of my “prairie” books are reference books: wildflower and grass identification (for Kansas, Oklahoma, and Missouri as well as Texas), There’s everything from a copy of “The Field Guide to Photographing Flowers” that I picked up at Half-Price books for a dollar, to my doorstop-sized “Shinners and Mahler’s Illustrated Flora” that I’m finally beginning to learn how to use.

        I didn’t begin by being interested in prairies. i began by thinking, “Ohhhh…. pretty flower!” and trying to identify it. Eventually, I figured out that “prairie” was one of the most interesting places where these pretty flowers lived, and the next thing I knew, I was planning vacations around prairies.

        I find one commonality between a prairie and the ocean. Know what it is? (Hint: it’s not the “waves.”)

  6. Interesting how we both bow to the beauty of weeds. We still have a couple of them in our backyard. Now we are hesitant in cutting them when the our gardener comes next week.

    Great subject and I still can’t figure out how you come up with these intricate poems with so many linguistic rules. But you do and you do it brilliantly.

    1. You know what they say, Omar: one person’s weed is another one’s wildflower, and what some call flowers, others can’t wait to destroy.

      Of course, even wildflowers aren’t always desirable. I saw my first native passion flowers at a farm where I pick blackberries. They were lovely, but the farmer wasn’t completely happy that they were taking over his berry vines, and bringing friends with them.

      All I can say about the “how” of these etherees is that they usually start with one fully-formed line that never changes. In this case, the line happened to be the first: “not every grass wants cutting.” I was at work when it came to me. I wrote it down on the back of a piece of used sandpaper so I wouldn’t forget it, and spent the rest of the day adding bits and pieces. I’m glad you enjoyed the result.

  7. Well, that’s OK. I put my own pet names on my photos, too. I suspected this was the case, but more often than not a local folky name is used for plants. I plead guilty to flying past a lot of fine print these days. Impatience.

    Hopefully, you remember that I’m a lover of prairie plants, grasses in particular. Some of the greatest times of my life have been visits to tall grass prairies in full color.

    I can often be overheard whispering to plants at work- “Sweetie”‘, “Baby”, “Handsome”. So you and I are on the same wave here :^)

    1. I’m in the process of going through my archives, culling duplicates and out-of-focus gems, and as I save, I’m substituting scientific names if I have something identified. Just the other day, I shared a photo I’d named “purplewhatever.” Now that I know it actually is “Ruellia caroliniensis,” I’ve changed the name on the files, but “purplewhatever” did have the advantage of making me laugh.

      I remember your love of grasses (and the clouds that float above them). I’ve been so focused on flowers that I haven’t given the grasses and sedges the attention they deserve, but slowly, slowly, I’m beginning to see more than masses of undifferentiated “grass.” I’m also getting a handle on how many species I can’t name — that’s a little daunting — but at least I’m past confusing Johnson grass with a native. There are names for that one other than “sweetie” or “handsome.”

  8. I’m reminded of a comment by Garrison Keillor:

    “You look out of your window … and the flowers you’ve tended and nourished are struggling to survive, but the dandelions are thriving, though you have done everything you could to kill them off. Maybe you chose the wrong side in this battle.” — Garrison Keillor

    1. Perfect. It’s not only funny, it’s a good reminder of the practical reasons to choose native plants for the garden.

      When my mother stopped trying to replicate her Iowa garden here in coastal Texas, she became far less frustrated by the tendency of her plants to die in the heat, or never to thrive at all. Exchanging lilacs for wisteria was just the first of several good moves.

  9. Absolutely beautiful! I agree with some of the others — those lovely grasses and flora shouldn’t be touched by the mower; but then again, I’m one of those who believe that the creation of the “lawn” has been one of the most environmentally destructive forces in our country. *Yay* to the free prairies and habitats!

    1. On the other hand, mowing isn’t necessarily destructive. Like fire, it can be a useful management tool. Nash Prairie, one of our real treasures, is known by some locals as “the hay meadow,” and it’s mowed from time to time. But it’s done with care, and understanding of the land. That kind of mowing is a far cry from the mania for “perfection” that leads to bland, over-mowed landscapes no self-respecting insect would move into.

      What I know about land management could be put in a very small thimble, but I have come to believe one of the best ways to increase the health of the world around us is to help people see more natural landscapes as equally beautiful as suburban neat-and-tidy.

      Maybe we need our own protest movement, with tee-shirts and a slogan: “Free the Prairies!”

    1. Kayti, it tickles me that my photo of the little boat on the water reminded people of fields of grain, and here a poem about the grasses reminds you of the sea. Waves are waves, after all, and it’s a natural association, no matter where we start or end.

      When I made my trip to the tallgrass prairie in Kansas, I was greatly frustrated by my inability to capture a sense of its beauty in photos. I suspect there’s always a gap, even for the best photographers with the best equipment, but I’m hoping to do better the next time I’m there. It’s an unforgettable sight.

      1. If I’d had a good photo of little bluestem — or another native — I could just as easily have used that. Here’s a smile for you. The photo I originally planned to use was really good, and illustrated that “seed heavy” nature of grasses beautifully. But by the time I identified it, oh, woe. It was an invasive. At least I was certain of my bushy bluestem.

        1. Oh dear, that would’ve been an oops, wouldn’t it?
          One thing I’ve found, over and over, since starting to use plant impressions in my pottery, is that the plants brought here by the settlers were never strictly ornamental, but always useful; be they for food, medicine, cloth or fodder…

    1. I enjoyed that, Deb. One of the refuges I go to has magnificent stands of little bluestem — and switchgrass, which also is mentioned in the article. In Kansas, I saw big bluestem, too. It may be around here, and I just haven’t recognized it. In Kansas it was easy, because it lived up to its name — I’d never seen grass so tall.

      I have a large, lovely bouquet of little bluestem in one of my mother’s antique vases. I got it in the hill country two years ago, and I’ve been a little surprised that the nice, feathery flowers still are in place. I’m gentle with it, for sure.

    1. Planning? What is this “planning” of which you speak? I had planned to save this poem in my draft files for that time when I was busy, or worn out with summer, or otherwise uninspired, but when I hit “publish” rather than “save draft,” that was the end of that!

      I had fun with those sibilant sounds. I figured that if Shakespeare could write about sermons in stones, I could try to evoke the swish of the switchgrass.

  10. Mother Nature puts out so many beautiful things, doesn’t she? And we humans must be very cautious when it comes to raping the land. What one might call a mere weed might be, to others, dinner, or even something just mighty pretty to look at!

    Lovely photo, Linda, and lovely Etheree to accompany it. I can practically hear this grass swishing from here!

    1. She surely does, Debbie — like those babies in your hanging basket. I’ve known people who wouldn’t have put up with that: but they weren’t the most pleasant people in the world, now that I think of it.

      I nearly had a heart attack a couple of weeks ago when I drove past one of my favorite nature centers and saw every sort of heavy machinery parked on the medians. In fact, they’re involved in constructing a bike path. It looks as though they’re not going to disrupt the landscape badly, and the nature center not at all.They certainly are being careful with their work — that isn’t always the case.

      I’m so glad you enjoyed the photo and Etheree. One of these days, I may learn how to use my camera’s video, and you can hear the swishing for real.

  11. Good advice, indeed. I always dread it when I see the mowers along the roadway verges here, knowing the chicory is about to be slain just as it is blooming so beautifully. I suppose they have to do it, though, come to think of it, I’m not sure why, or at least why then.

    1. The “then” is the key, isn’t it? Of course they have to mow alongside highways, but at least in Texas there’s a degree of awareness that it’s better to forego mowing until after the wildflowers have seeded. I’m sure that’s true in other states, too. We’ve benefited from the influence of Lady Bird Johnson, of course, and there seems to be increasing agreement that diverse, native landscapes carry benefits far beyond their beauty.

      I still grieve, just a little, when I think about the flowers and grasses I missed photographing this spring because I was convinced no one would mow them down. Silly me — and lesson learned.

  12. I thought I would be way up on your comment list. Alas, no such thing. Most of the time I love being low. I like your comments section. But must read and run today.

    To the post subject — I noticed on the way over here today that some large acreages have been mowed just around the perimeters, probably trying to satisfy city codes in some way. We have a neighbor who has about twelve acres. He likes to let his prairie grass grow. The city said, “Cut it.” He tried cutting it and leaving little circles of flowers plots. They were adamant, “Cut it,” It was ridiculous. I love my little “city” but I think they were carrying out a vendetta against him. I can’t understand such an attitude.

    1. I can’t understand it either, Oneta. No one wants an eyesore in the neighborhood, or a dangerous situation created by overgrown property. On the other hand, there’s no denying the presence of pettiness or arbitrary decision-making within the bureaucracies. It’s a shame they couldn’t reach some sort of accomodation.

      Still, Miss Emily Dickinson has a word of encouragement to offer:

      ““To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,
      One clover, and a bee,
      And revery.
      The revery alone will do,
      If bees are few.”

      Hang on to your reveries, while you’re trying to bring increase to the clover and bees.

  13. At least 80% of the grass on our 5 acres gets to grow free, Linda. I cut around our house and up around our van’s pad for ascetic reasons, to eliminate stickers, and for fire safety. I also cut the grass along the road for fire safety. Beyond that it is free to grow, green in the spring and a beautiful golden brown in the summer. As a kid I worked with a scythe on occasion. Now, I am afraid its a weed whacker. I have gone over to the Dark Side. :) –Curt

    1. Stickers! There’s a reason to mow. I have a friend with one of those fancy, curly dogs who had a bumper crop in her yard, and she was spending all her time pulling the things out of its fur. She was trying to avoid mowing until the wildflowers finished blooming, but she finally figured out there were going to be new flowers replacing the old, so she went ahead and mowed.

      And of course fire’s an issue. I haven’t done it myself, but I do know someone who made the mistake of parking a hot car over three-foot grasses. It’s not the recommended way to announce your arrival at a party.

      And don’t forget that machete that you used to “mow” in Gbarnga, Curt. I always was amazed by how effective that could be. Was it easier than using a scythe?

  14. You are always so good with the different forms of poems whether it’s etheree or other forms. And, yes, we shouldn’t always want to form and trim nature in what we humans deem as right and beautiful, should we!

    1. There are times for gardening and landscaping — for neatly shaped trees, cleared paths, and trimmed shrubs — but there’s a time to enjoy the exuberance of shape and color nature provides when left to her own devices.

      After all, if we eliminate everything in nature that we can’t control, where will we find our surprises?

  15. How true this is and the photo is perfect.

    It’s often breezy here because of the open pasture. We’ve been thinking about planting some pampas grass to watch the feathery plums sway in the breeze. I’m so happy for the open pasture. It is home to all sorts of insects and birds and other wildlife. There’s a little pond that helps draw a large variety of animals. A little water, an open space and a small stand of trees and they all show up.

    1. That’s what your pasture and my balcony have in common: a little water, an open space, and a small stand of trees. Well, I have one ficus tree and a couple of nicely-sized Hawaiian schefflera, but the result is the same. It’s a party every morning with the birds shoving each other around to get at the food, and every afternoon when they come to have a little bath to cool off.

      You’re lucky to have that open space to provide breeze and a view. Do check the status of pampas grass in your state, since it’s considered an invasive in some states and if both male and female plants are around — well, it spreads. You might check to see what native grasses are available that could give you the same effect. Whichever you choose, I agree completely about the pleasure of grasses. They’re like fire, or ocean waves. There’s something mesmerizing about watching them in the wind. They’re always different, and yet always the same.

  16. I love your poem and could not agree more. Mowing is one of the biggest ironies in life. I suppose this is why the Kentucky bluegrass is out of fashion and groundcovers are taking over.

    I confess I do like the smoothness of a bluegrass lawn. However, lawns are becoming a commodity utilizing precious water resources. This is an issue I addressed in one of my posts, the tendency towards xeriscaping!

    1. I grew up with bluegrass, and there’s nothing like it, especially for people who like to go barefooted. It was quite a shock to move to Texas and discover St. Augustine and Bermuda. Now Zoysia is becoming more common, but none of them are as foot-friendly — or as croquet-friendly! — as that smooth, midwestern grass.

      On the other hand, there are beautiful decorative grasses, and groundcovers that can work even in the shade, eliminating those bare patches under the trees. We’ve had plentiful rain this year, but we haven’t had any for about three weeks now, and the temperatures are summer-hot. People will be watering before long, and grumping about their water bill. As you say, it doesn’t have to be that way — and more and more people are learning that word: xeriscaping.

      1. What I don’t like groundcovers (the xeriscaping alternatives) is that, as you said, they are not foot- friendly at all. However, I will sacrifice anything for the environment, that’s just the way I am.

  17. ‘The heart of the prairie preserved.’ I love that. As I read each line, I felt as if the grass was actually speaking to you – not that it would! The grass all has character, it reminds me of characters in a story. Even though they are only real inside your mind, they become all too real, and they have the gall to demand anything! So it is almost the same with fauna and flora all around us.

    1. I liked the line about “the prairie preserved” myself. It came to me after I’d thought the poem was done, but I started pondering the various places around here that are called “prairie preserves,” and it just seemed right to change “preserve’ from a noun to a verb.

      I’m not so certain the grass wouldn’t speak. You’ve reminded me of a few lovely lines from Walt Whitman’s “Leaves of Grass”:

      “A child said, What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
      How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is, any more than he.

      I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.

      Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
      A scented gift and remembrancer, designedly dropped,
      Bearing the owner’s name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say, Whose?”

      As for all the flora and fauna around us becoming real, you might enjoy the tale of Godot and Godette, two cactus that took on remarkable characteristics over time. I just watered Godette this afternoon. When she came to live with me, she was four inches tall. Now? She’s an impressive 20″ tall, and blooming like crazy: surrounded by adoring prickly pears.

    1. The bushy bluestem is an extraordinarily beautiful grass. I know I have a couple more photos of it at this stage, but I can’t find them — more reason to get things organized around here. I never post anything I’m not happy with, but there are times I’m really happy with the result, and this is one of those times. I’m glad you enjoyed it, too!

  18. I was all set to plant bushy bluestem in my parkway, but researching it I find it isn’t recommended for western part of country — Southern California where I live as we are definitely dry. Like your poem.

    1. When I began paying attention to native plants, I was surprised by the variety that exists even in Texas. Plants that thrive in the piney woods don’t grow in the hill country, and hill country beauties simply can’t make it on the coast. It’s one good reason to travel — to get a grasp on the complexity of the natural world.

      On the other hand, staying at home’s not bad, either. I’ve finally figured out that I could spend the afternoon in a meadow or at a pond and not see all that’s there to be seen.

      And I’m happy you like the poem. Thanks for stopping by — you’re always welcome. ~ Linda

  19. I love this! Although Mike and I live in a neighborhood in a small town, we like to leave some wild things around. In fact, we have a poke berry bush taller than I am in what is usually our tomato patch. Too much spring travel & depression kept us from planting this year, but the poke berry amuses us greatly, so that helps.

    1. When you said pokeberry, I wondered if it was the plant that provides poke salad. It seems that it is. In the process of figuring that out, I found this neat article that’s full of information about which birds and butterflies are attracted to the plant. By the time I finished reading the article, I was ready to go out and find a pokeberry to plant.

      In the middle of the article, there’s a note Mike might be interested in. In Civil War times, they used the juice of pokeberries for ink.

      We have a similar bush called beauty berry. It’s a gorgeous thing. I found some in the neighborhood last fall, but it was a little too late. The berries weren’t as plump and bright as they could have been. But at least this year I know where to find it.

      Glad you enjoyed the verse — and I’m glad you have the pokeberry.

    1. The more I use the Etheree form, the more elastic it seems to become. In the beginning, it was hard to focus on anything but syllable counting. Now, I’ve grown more confident about including other poetic devices, and paying attention to rhythm and rhyme, too.

      I’m glad you like it, and I’m glad to find another grass lover. Sorting them out can be more difficult than with wildflowers (at least it seems so to me) but they’re just as rewarding.

    1. It’s really fun to see how different interpretations of the shape arise with different poems, SOL. It’s been seen as a Christmas tree, a boat, an arrowhead. Who knows what else it might seem to be in the future? At least no one said, “That looks just like my mower!”

  20. A lovely flow of words that mimics the to and fro of grass in the wind. These last few months I have been videoing, with my phone, things like waves and grass, anything that has that hypnotic feel to it. I’m not sure what I’ll do with them, but I too find a kind of “wisdom” in this bit of nature.

    1. Perhaps you don’t have to “do” anything with them, Allen. Perhaps the considering, the capturing, and the re-considering are enough.

      I’m a little surprised it’s taken me until this very moment to remember the prairie schooners, and the way their movement through the waves of grass gave them their name. I recently watched a magnificent time-lapse video of storm generation, and there, too, the waves of energy were compelling and equally hypnotic. (You can see that here.) There’s something about repetitive, and yet always different, movement that is deeply soothing.

      1. Thanks for the link. It was amazing! Good points on the “enough” of the capturing. It may well come to that, as do so many of my painting, poems, etc. It is the creating that is the gift.

  21. Grass that if it was in our garden we would call ‘ornamental’ and yet in the wild it is part of the natural landscape.

    In our new garden there were some broad leaved bits of grass down the bottom of the garden in the soil that is quite damp for much of the year due to the water table. At first impression they just looked like bits of lawn grass with slightly broader leaves, but we decided to leave them in situ – and lo and behold, they have grown into showy grasses that justify the term ‘ornamental’. Never be hasty in uprooting what you can’t at first identify.

    1. One of the things I’ve discovered is that many plants I’ve assumed were short, stocky little things actually grow quite tall if left alone. Some of them even bloom! Regular mowing doesn’t kill them, but it warps them out of all recognition: hence, the wisdom of your advice about not uprooting the unidentified.

      I do hope you have a summer that favors your garden. You mentioned how lucky you felt to have the sunshine for the wedding — now you need some sunshine for the weeding!

    1. Thanks, Jeanie. I’ve never thought to ask — do you have to mow up at the lake? I suppose so: at least around the cabin. and I suspect you have plenty of wonderful, native grasses to enjoy, and to draw. The more I pay attention to grasses, the more amazed I am by their variety.

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