I would make up games for our little gang of neighborhood kids; one was called fox and rabbits. You’d think the point of it would be for the fox to catch the rabbits, but all I remember about it is sitting in a shade patch under the maple tree pulling up grass, and being very disappointed when my father, in his quiet friendly way, asked us please to stop.
And so I always think of him when I see grass that looks like emerald carpets. He put in all our lawns himself, grading, spreading the seed, and then – my favorite part – rolling it with a big metal roller filled with water.
And I always think of him on holiday weekends, especially this one, when the summer stretches ahead and the days are long.
I inherited his two favorite pastimes, working outside and then reading inside, but not his lawn technique. My emerald carpet, after years of struggle by me, finally got laid by a professional. My rabbit heritage, I guess, gave me that black lawn thumb.