Derek Follett

my digital home



From the Xanga archives (July 13, 2007):

Katie and I just got a dog, a puppy, Artie. One thing I admire about Artie is his love for grass. I take him outside and he rolls and stretches out in the grass biting at the weeds and pawing the dirt. I want to lay on the grass and enjoy it too. I remember people in college were always on the grass, and I envied those people with their backpacks as pillows napping during the midday. I tried it once but I feared I wouldn’t wake in time for class then I swear I could hear the bugs in the grass and imagined them crawling over my sleeping body and face, a statistic “the average person swallows eight spiders a year” comes to mind. Artie would eat the bugs, and his only class is my fetch lesson preceding his nap. He flips over on to his back and stretches to his full puppy length and I remember marching band. Bob the marching instructor exercising his complete authority over us to tell us to lay down on the grass and become “one with the field.” I lay there looking up at the sky and up becomes down and all that prevents me from falling into outerspace is my oneness with the earth, and I don’t fear, my faith in the band and the earth sustains me. Then I remember the next marching instructor Marco telling us to pull out a piece of grass from the competition field as Artie begins to bite the grass as he rolls around. “This is my grass, this is my field, I own this field,” we were instructed to say. I remember Aaron the clarinet saving grass from each field with excitement that causes him to curse. Now I really do own my own grass that I mow and try to keep green with my limited experience and knowledge of irrigation and Agriculture. I think, “a person with a degree in Agricultural Engineering ought to be able to keep a greener lawn.” But then Artie enjoys it just the same and my worries vanish as he and I become one with the earth once again.


3 thoughts on “Grass.

  1. PUPPY! and no pictures! what is this? We want to see!

  2. That’s a great post, pulling all those memories together. It’s the kind of narrative that forms the seed for a good short story .

    How’s the grass growing since then?

    The house I’m renting a room in has a lawn, and since I’m the “tenant coordinator”, I’m pretty much responsible for taking care of it – but since it’s not REALLY “my lawn”, I don’t care THAT much if it’s not perfect. Once the seeds I planted to fill in the dead spots have taken root, I’ll hit it with a bottle of Weed-n-Feed, and hope that’ll take care of the worst of it….

    I still have a piece of grass I took off the field from the last field show, somewhere deep in my trunk. I don’t think I’ve taken a look at it in years.

    My last year of college, I became one of those sleeping-on-the-grass people. Didn’t much care about the bugs, if they want to visit my digestive system, that’s their prerogative. And I didn’t care much about missing a class; by that point in time, I’d pretty much figured out that being a few minutes late, or missing a lecture once in a while, won’t affect most undergrad lectures (not that I ever did; I’m a pretty light sleeper, these days). And if I sleep on the grass, I won’t sleep in class.

    So when are you two going to get out to San Diego again? Or vice the versa?

  3. @Tracy: Artie Pics

    @Matt: You’re coming to visit us for Thanksgiving, see you soon.

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