The cold, wet winter and long, rainy spring was hospitable to the grasses, ground cover and weeds that grow in Discovery Park. Several people have remarked to Mike that the grass has never been higher. When a warm spell finally hit, the meadows burst. So many kinds of grass grow here, of varying height and hues of green, their flowers even more diverse in color and texture. As I run through the tunnels of tall grasses in the various meadows, the tiny seeds cling to me like dust to a Swiffer.
It’s hard for Mike and Heather to keep track of a ball that they throw for me to chase. Despite their best bowling techniques, honed on the candlepin lanes of Ontario and the Skee-Ball machines of Sylvan Beach and the Jersey Shore, a ball can hit a curb, a clump of dirt or even the side of my nose and skip unexpectedly into dense thickets of tall grass, stinging nettle and blackberry. This is where I draw the line at chasing and trying to find the ball. That’s their problem. (In fact, Mike has lost my ball overnight a couple of times, only to come across it in the morning light of the following day.)
With the 4th of July behind us, the grasses’ growth has peaked. The taller ones have started to sag, the weight of their flowers overpowering their weakening stalks. Now losing the ball is the least of Mike’s problems; he can lose the whole damn dog.