As you may know, Mrs Missouri and I live in a quiet little town, right in the middle of Saint Louis County: a sweet spot with nice schools, plenty of parks, a short ride from downtown and no crime rate to speak of. With all that, we also have a yard. At my parent’s house, I sometimes would mow the lawn. Actually, when Mrs Missouri came over to their house, and we were house sitting, we decided to go somewhere and take the train. I told her, “The train leaves in ten minutes or so, let me just mow the lawn real quick.” She didn’t really understand why I would start such a chore while leaving, until she noticed the patch of grass in the yard, the size of a big kitchen table. Mowing it took less than three minutes, and off to the train station we went.
Our current yard is a different story. First off, it has grass everywhere (mostly onion grass, so that’s a challenge in itself). Second, our backyard alone has more elevation than the Netherlands in its entirety. Moving the mower from one side to the other feels like taking the one Ring to Mordor. It is quite a work out. But aside from those challenges, nature throws another test of character at me: snakes. I don’t like snakes. I think I already wrote a thousand blogs about this, but this time it’s real. They have woken from their hibernation and my dear neighbor decided to send me a picture of one happy, awake snake. I hadn’t seen any last summer (or the weeks of summer that we lived here), so I figured the area was too populated for them. Turns out they are more than happy to devil their merry way into my territory. No way, Jose. I never had any Catholic tendencies, but I think Saint Patrick will appear in the form of a snake-frightening statue. Maybe then, they will actually be more afraid of me than I am of them.