It’s dandelion season. The pastures are spangled with yellow. I am happy to see so many thousands of bright flowers, knowing each is attached to a long taproot which will push deep into the acid soil, to eventually die and rot to be food for microbes and then worms.
This small corner of my pastures is the lushest on the property because years ago my neighbor Charlie cleared the manure pile from his stable and had the tons of compost trucked and dumped on this spot. I didn’t have a manure spreader so Allen just bulldozed it in a thick blanket over the small area. I wish I could do the same for the other twenty acres.
It’s been a long haul trying to establish pastures on this rocky farm. Here’s the south field in 2006. I had spread winter rye in the fall of 2005 and it was coming up as a first green mist on the logged-over land.
No one will ever know the thousands of hours I have worked alone hauling brush, broken logs, roots, and rocks, cutting back invasive poplar, raspberries, and blackberries, fighting to establish grass while being bitten by mosquitoes and blackflies. But that’s OK. I know.
And so the view today, though still far from perfect, makes me happy.
Pushing through the last week of school. A week from tomorrow is the finish line.