The pasture had been the home of Minnie Pearl, Uncle Clem's pet donkey. She once worked in a petting zoo, but upon its demise she retired to the farm. Her daily meanderings over more than a decade wore deep paths that criss crossed the pasture like a mosaic.
When I first contemplated the farm, I looked it up on Google Earth and could even see them there.
As I mow, I feel their rise and fall and still see bare spots not yet filled by the encroaching grasses and weeds. I wonder what led her. Was it sweet seasonal grasses? Perhaps regularly scheduled meetings with moles, cottentailed rabbits or even snakes? The perimeter will be the last to disappear, her daily route regardless.
When I first contemplated the farm, I looked it up on Google Earth and could even see them there.
As I mow, I feel their rise and fall and still see bare spots not yet filled by the encroaching grasses and weeds. I wonder what led her. Was it sweet seasonal grasses? Perhaps regularly scheduled meetings with moles, cottentailed rabbits or even snakes? The perimeter will be the last to disappear, her daily route regardless.