So there it is, the end of April 21st already and I mowed the lawn for the first time this season. A full two weeks before I had to the year before. I figured I had no choice as the grass was getting up there in length already and we were looking at another 7 days of rain starting Friday. I was down down to the VA all day Thursday so there was simply no waiting.

Of course, this meant going out to the local midi mart to fill the gas can as well as my old Jeep Cherokee while I was at it for the trip downcountry. This cost me the better part of $40.00 which made me grumble a bit. But grumbling obviously wasn’t going to change the price per gallon so I left off the mental moaning and groaning and headed back to the house.

Arriving at home, I carried the now full gas can out into the back yard to the shed, unzipped the front and peered in. Yup, there was the mower, right where I had left it. I dragged it out into the sunshine.

Fresh oil had been put into the crankcase last season and it was still right up there on the dip stick so all was well there. I undid the cap to the gas tank, poured in a dollop of carburetor cleaner followed by a stream of gasoline until the tank was full. Screwing the cap back on I realized that my back wasn’t taking all this bending over with a heavy gas can business all that well so I gently placed the gas can on the ground and, using the handle to push against, gently coaxed the old bod back to an upright position.

While I was waiting for my back to stop complaining I took a look around the yard that was not to be my yard for very much longer and my eyes fell on the ancient willow stump sitting at the back of the yard. And I remembered.

We would have been here 5 years come this summer and when we first moved to the house on Union street the stump had actually been a bit bigger in size. To be truthful, that old stump had been rather huge-ish. Five years ago the stump had a diameter of  about 6 feet across even after all the years of scavenger growth paring it down little by little–burdock being the major occupier of the stumps’ real estate. I remember Laurie and I gazing down at the old remnant and feeling a bit sad that we had missed seeing the old tree when  it was still alive as old willows are just beautiful.

Okay, many consider the weeping willow to be a pain in the butt but others find them as we do. Just don’t plant them anywhere near your well or septic tank (and associated piping thereof) and you’re good.

The next year, somewhere toward the end of May or beginning of June, I was heading into the back yard much like I was today except at that time my goal was to do murder to the burdock that adorned the old stump. One of the many murderous sessions I would have to undertake in any given summer since burdock never dies. You can only kill it temporarily. And as I approached the stump I saw this:

Can you spot the willow sapling? (click for larger image)

Here’s a close up if you can’t spot the it in the above image:

After who knows how many years after the original tree had been cut down, a willow had sprouted from the old stump one year after we had arrived. Obviously it had realized how much we would have liked to see the old tree so it sprouted a new one–just for us.

Now just look at it:

Knowing full well that our landlord will probably just cut it down after we’re gone we need to figure out how to take at least a part of it with us and transplant into the yard of our new (old) house.

Since our new place is on city water and sewer (no well or septic tank for the roots to get into) and there’s a rather large side yard that’s free of underground pipes and such, it might just be worth bringing along a switch or two and see if we can coax them into rooting.

Meanwhile, the mower was still sitting there and the lawn wasn’t getting any shorter that way. Like every season before the mower started depressingly easy. Not like it was when I was young where half the first day of mowing was spent wrestling (cursing, swearing, kicking) with a recalcitrant mower that just refused to do anything but flood.

Now since the act of mowing my yard makes for a rather boring subject, I’ll end this post here. Have a loverly day.