Now They Say It’s a Hundred Year Drought

Grass2

A few brave blades dare to spring up. Is it time to cut the grass again?

 

Our waterless summer marches on into September.  Since May there’s been a few scattered showers and, in August, two whole days of light rain.  Not enough to replenish anything. However, nature tries hard with what’s on hand.

Those two days were enough to bring grass back in patches, mostly where it had been protected by some shade. The parts that have been roasted crispy by the sun have only managed to put out a wispy blade or two barely visible amidst the tangled dead mat of former days.  However, another shower is predicted (40%) for this week.

WetLd

Shrunken wetland now just cracked mud.

Perhaps, before everything freezes, I may have to haul the lawn tractor from the shed if only to knock down the never-say-die chicory and blue devil rather than trim the struggling grass. The machine hasn’t been started since May and will be mighty surprised to be pulled from its long summer nap.

WetLdStump

Receding water reveals how the beavers have been gnawing down the ash trees.

The new grass has provided a kind of phantom respite for the cattle in the pasture.  It is still mostly too short to graze but gives a green haze to the ground and no doubt smells maddeningly delicious. The cattle no longer have time to lie down in the pond mud to keep cool.  They are too busy scouring the acres, back and forth,  for anything new that might be edible. In the end, they come back to their ration of hay.

WetLdOak

Large pasture oak giving up on keeping leaves.

Meanwhile, my wetland continues to dry out and my swans march about the farm seeking who knows what.  Perhaps a place to swim where they won’t keep getting stuck the mud. The receding waters have left water plants stranded, reeds drying out and shown up the number of stumps from where the beaver have been gnawing down the ash trees.  The trees themselves try hard to maintain a few handfuls of green leaves while others simply give up and drop all their greenery hoping for better luck next year.

Rain

Rain, rain, come again. And hurry it up. The countryside can’t keep living on dew.

 

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