Yard work.

“Plowing these fields in the hot summer sun

Over by the gate, yonder here she comes

With a basket full of chicken

And a big cold jug of sweet tea.”

Let me start out with a simple fact about myself—-I hate doing yard work.

I know how it started, and ended, as it is implanted (no pun) in my memory; I would like to say I pulled a million weeds with my Dad’s help, but it was more like several thousand—-he probably pulled closer to a million. 

Why we didn’t use weed killer, or put down something to stop the weeds?  I have no idea. It would have saved my knees because the beds where the weeds grew had these triangular rocks that would pierce your skin and literally stick.

After my brother left for college, I was “promoted” to head lawn cutter. For me, it was much better and my knees gave a big thumbs up. My Dad, however, continued weeding on those damn stones without me. I am sorry Dad, I should have done it—but I just hated it.

When I was 5 years old, we moved to West County. appropriately to the west of St. Louis. It was a new area that had originally been farmland. At one point the land grew corn and I assume animals were  being raised as well. How did I know about the corn? For some reason, every once in while a stalk would push through in the middle of our lawn. Not sure how this happened, but I didn't pick it because I hated pulling corn stalks too!

The real tell tale sign of farm life occurred where we would stand waiting for our school bus to arrive. The farm house, which was still there, had many chickens milling about. A few times a week we would be waiting for the bus and hear chopping. Yes it’s true, they really do run around with their heads cut off. Our goal was to gather bloody feathers and take them to school with us. I had many to share.

As I have grown up, I have always loved farms and barns. I like to photograph them and even a few months ago while I was taking pictures of a barn well to the west of where I live, I was approached by a farmer who let me know…”you’re on private land.” Although I talked my way through it, I knew I needed to get out of there, but before I did I asked if "I could just take a few more photos?. How did I convince him? I said, "Please and Thank you." Works almost every time.

The photo above was taken within the border of Detroit; it’s called the "Heidelberg Project". When I was told we were going to an area with outdoor art, I had no idea what to expect. What we found an experience that was just amazing. Best of all, weeds are welcome!

Thanks for stopping by.