I used to think people who spent all their time doing yardwork out in the suburbs were so lame. Get a life, people. Go see some live music or something.

Then I bought a house. It’s in the suburbs. I spend time in the yard. To my amazement, I found I enjoy growing grass (no, not that kind). It’s spiritual. It’s providing the necessity of water and nutrients to help the little baby grass sustain life and then grow. I look forward to the planting season each spring. Doing yardwork in March is like preparing the fields for planting.

My grandparents and my other ancestors were farmers. They worked in rich soil not far from the Missouri River. When I’m out working in the yard, I can feel their presence, and also a connection to them. I imagine my ancestors like they are in an old black-and-white film, walking around inspecting the yard. Everything about them — the trees, the grass, the red wheelbarrow — is in full color.