Watching Grass Grow

Standing over a wheelbarrow full of topsoil and grass seed Sunday afternoon, my eyes began stinging from the sweat pouring off my forehead. Reaching into my pocket for a handkerchief to wipe the sweat away, I find it is empty. My shirt is too dirty to wipe my eyes, so I pull off my work gloves and do the best I can to clear my eyes of the salty, stinging sweat.

Walking into the kitchen 15 minutes later, Mary looks at me and laughs.
“What happened?” she asks. “You have something all over your face.”
A few seconds later the reflection in the bathroom mirror looks like a jungle warrior. Streaks of dark black topsoil mixed with sweat cover my cheeks, chin and under and above my eyes. Wiping the sweat with my dirty work gloves was not such a good idea. An hour earlier my neighbor had warned me to stop working so hard on such a hot day. Two hours before that Mary had told me to skip the yard work and stay in the pool.

But my newly-planted grass needed me. About a month ago I planted it to repair the damage made by a backhoe that had dug a three-foot wide trench from my house to the street after the pipe that carries water to my house gave out. I was not happy with how the grass is coming in and decided to spend about three hours in the blazing heat patching the bare spots.

Growing grass is very important to me, just ask my neighbors. One night about two weeks ago I was going through my usual around-dusk ritual of inspecting the new grass. It takes me about 10 or 15 minutes to walk and inspect the entire length of the area that was dug up.
“I hope the neighbors don’t see me looking at my grass,” I think to myself.
A few nights later, I was at a banquet celebrating the 90th birthday of two Wallingford sports legends. I was surprised and happy to see my neighbor Holly. I moved across the crowded banquet hall to say hello.
“Hi Ralph,” Holly said. “I saw you looking at your grass the other night.”

Let me know what you think.