"It's just grass."

I've been in my house for about 2.5 years now. You may have noticed that I like taking pictures of it. I don't know how long I'll be here, but I do enjoy documenting the place. Today's photo is a slightly different view from my usual top-of-driveway. Semi-ironically, what you can't see is a big part of my inspiration for spending all day today mowing and trimming and bricking and hosing -- my porch overhang has finally been reaffixed with a light that isn't a fingernail away from falling out of the hole and knocking out the pizza dude. And my roof and gutters are clean. Thanks, Buddha! (I'm not allowed to use ladders by myself.)

When I was originally looking at buying this place, it was late Fall, and before letting ourselves in, my Realtor and I paused to watch a crew of about 6 men working on the 1++ acre yard. Bruce looked down at me in that patriarchal way that's almost avoidable from a man a foot taller than myself. "That's... an awful lot of yard," he said, the little lady understood but unspoken.

I smiled in goofy desperation, because from the time I'd seen the place I knew I'd be living here. "It's just grass." flutter flutter

Well, let me tell you. "It's just grass" becomes a lot more fun when you've got the right pardner. And this is my pardner. I won't go all Tim Taylor here, but I will say that the motor on this little golden devil is almost as big as what's in my motorcycle (and quite a bit bigger than my first bike).

Seriously.