by Max Akroyd

Not sure if it was the cloudy sky until noon, or the taste of rain in the air, but I decided rain was imminent despite the forecast, and just mowed. All afternoon.

I only have a 135cc mower with a 35 cm cutting width, so it takes more than a while to get around the four acres designated for fruit and vegetables. (I’d like to ascribe the smallness of my mower to high ecological standards but, in reality, I’m intimidated by big machines). The limitations of the mower have defined the land use to some extent. I have lots of paths but no lawned areas. The areas I can’t be bothered to mow are euphemistically called “meadow” and await the enthusiastic attentions of the pigs which will convert them into new growing spaces.  As I push the mower around the field, I can grumpily meditate upon the sheer oddness of an activity that does nothing at all to prepare me for self-sufficiency and is symptomatic of our disordered relationship with nature.

But grass paths are cheaper than stone or gravel ones. The pigs like the grass cuttings for an afternoon snack (takes all sorts). I have a limitless need for grass cuttings as mulch.

And the mowing is still not finished.