Obviously, I'm not a slave to mowing ... nor is their any kind of communist "neighborhood association" to fuss about my mowing habits. You can't even see PFHQ from the road, so the dead truck, the canoes, the stacked aquariums, the well worn (dingy/rusted) BBQ grill, and barn in need of TLC are nobody's concern, but ours.
Mrs. FC is "kinda like" a neighborhood association all by herself ... only without the communist part ... she just sighs heavily about this or that bit of yard junk and then I get to it ... eventually.
This summer has been very grey and thunderboomy. After a bone dry spring, I now can not remember the last day here where it did not go grey with thunderstorms at some point in the day.
The result of daily waterings is that the "lawn" has gone bonkers.
It was looking like a hay field the other night when we pulled in from our mountain trip. Unfortunately we had just given the last rites to our worn out little push mower the week before.
Undaunted and not willing to wait for me to go pick out a new one, Mrs. FC borrowed one from a friend and she and Junior went mowflexing in shifts.
One good reason for not mowing too often or too close to the fence is to give volunteers like this native passionflower a chance to shine. This one is spectacular with multiple blossoms and many more buds that promise to keep the party going.
Unfortunately, it's growing atop my scuppernong grape vine and shading it a bit more than the grape and I would like, but dang ... it's really pretty.
Bear fears the mower.
He's the"get up-in-est dog we've ever had. If there's something to clamber up on to, he will do it.
Not just when he's mower cowed like in this pic, but just to be.
The other night, I walked out into the hallway and he was sitting atop the giant Rubbermaid tub that serves as the "Hurricane Food Supply Box". He wasn't shredding anything or getting into trouble for a change.
He just seemed to be surveying his kingdom.