Grass

My middle (not very) little brother Tabor manages a ranch.  He knows all about horses and cattle and people.  The farming (haying) part of the operation is his least favorite.  He doesn't really want to be a farmer.

Adam on the other hand, was interested.  He went with Tabor when we were visiting a few weeks ago to doctor an ailing pivot sprinkler.  The huge kind.  I think Adam's secret wish is to have Tabor hire him.  He would happily put up hay and irrigate all day every day.

A few days ago, Adam's agricultural cravings were placated with the delivery of some new sod.

He's a proud papa.  That evening, he surveyed his new turf and contemplated sprinkler patterns.  Our neighbor Matt was outside so they discussed.  Adam and Matt have joined forces before on a thriving little patch of grass between our two front yards.  They planted it together and take turns watering and mowing it in an unspoken partnership. Like every new parent, Adam's had to lose some sleep caring for his baby.  Yesterday morning he set his alarm extra early to water it before leaving for work.  He left before it was done but not before giving me careful instructions in how to finish watering.

At the prescribed time, I turned off the water.  I gingerly walked on the tender new grass and retrieved the sprinkler.  I dragged it to the corner.  I set it up in what seemed to me the right path.  I turned on the water.

The sprinkler turned its saucy head and doused me.

If you heard yelping coming from my corner of the world at 7:30 yesterday morning that was me.  The unpredictable turn that sprinklers can take is a mystery to me.  They are beyond my ability to control.  My two unenthusiastic years of membership in FFA in high school did not do much to prepare me for farming.

The new patio is much safer for people like me.

Good thing I have Adam for the green stuff.