Growing Grass on a Rock

When we first moved to the mountain after living at the beach in Florida, I was fascinated by the wild and natural state of our new surroundings. But as we began to make improvements - clearing the underlying brush, cutting all low tree limbs, etc. - I began to miss having a lawn.

I mentioned this to my dad on several occasions over the years, but he always gave me the same condescending smile and said "You can't grow grass on rock". Which was true.....if you weren't looking down at rock, it was lurking just below the surface. But I never quit thinking about a lush green lawn beneath my feet.

Then, six years later and four weeks ago when the first hint of fall crept into the air, I began to buy rye grass seed, 50 pounds at a time. Every afternoon, I would set out on foot, broadcasting the seed - by hand - throughout the clearing around the house. Occasionally, I would see my husband on the porch, watching me and shaking his head as he has done so many times over the years when I pursued one of my (MANY) silly ideas. But he indulged my foolishness, as he has always done, thinking it was better to let me learn for myself than to point out my folly.

But a week into my endeavor, something miraculous happened. It was one of those things that can only happen in nature and is far greater than anything mere humans can control. IT BEGAN TO RAIN! But this rain was not just a couple of afternoon showers. It was day after day of beautiful soft soaking misty rain like an enormous expensive shower head on the perfect setting. This was my sign! My tiny grass seed would have the water it needed to grow that I had no way to provide otherwise.

So, each day for the past three weeks, in the rain, I have been out spreading grass seed. As of this afternoon, 400 pounds of it to be exact! I am sure I resemble some sort of itinerant farmer, straight off the pages of the Grapes of Wrath, walking up and down the hills in my muck boots and rain slicker, carrying the heaviest pail I can manage.

But as the rains kept coming and the days passed and I began to see the fine green strands, peeking through the rocks, those trips up and down the hills felt less tedious and my pail of precious seeds less cumbersome.

And last week when my husband looked out over the mountainside that I fondly call my "yard" and said "Well, I'll be..... Looks like you did it!", I felt vindicated.

I only wish I had a way to show my dad that with a little help from a force far greater than ourselves, we really can grow grass on a rock!