I took my daughter for a walk through the yard this morning. It was amazing to see all of it reflected in her eyes: her startlement at the breeze, her enjoyment of the warm air, and her squinting at the dappled light coming through the leaves.
I’m a kind of caretaker for the place, and so a week ago some friends stopped by to shore up my meager recent efforts. They did all kinds of impressive projects, for which I’m deeply grateful. But the project they undertook which gave me the most pause was the planting of grass in several spots where grass has had a lot of trouble growing. In spite of that, they lent their expertise and elbow grease, tilling and fortifying and sowing and spreading straw for ground cover. Since then, I’ve watched the weather and supplemented the rain with a few sprinklings. Yet in spite of my outward efforts, I didn’t hold out much hope that we’d see any success.
But today, Ella and I got to see the most beautiful, tiny, tender shoots of grass standing like so many hairs in the voids between the pieces of straw. Life that sprouts despite hardship, and in spite of my doubt.