Written August 7, 2025
Hello Dear Readers,
After July’s grand finale heatwave, the weather finally took a breath. We even had a day so nippy I reached for long sleeves, and my wife reported her morning runs felt… heavy. Same here—only now, thanks to the cool snap, my own runs have been downright pleasant. Bonus: the lawn hit the pause button. When I mowed this morning, I had to squint to see where I’d been. A beautiful problem.
Do I dare skip next week’s mow? Reader, I might. For a minute, I even dreamed mowing season had packed its bags. I’m not delusional; August loves a comeback tour. One warm front and the grasses will go feral again. For now, I’m enjoying the rare, guilt-free chance to close the garage and pretend the mower and I are “on a break.”
Nature, meanwhile, is experimenting with costume changes. After the heat broke, our trees panicked and tossed down a few branches and leaves—an early autumn cosplay. My wife’s planning a leaf-vacuum session this weekend. She spotted the mess first; she also spotted, alas, the poison ivy last week… a little late. She mistook it for Virginia creeper, then discovered the classic truth: “leaves of three, let it be.” She washed up, but the rash still arrived like an uninvited guest. To add insult to injury, the heat in our garage partially melted her old gardening gloves (yes, actually melted). She upgraded to a pair that shields the whole forearm. When poison ivy is in the neighborhood, fashion becomes armor.
We’ve had fewer bugs this summer—small mercy—so she’d been working in short sleeves during those early, not-too-sunny hours. The rash has her rethinking that. She also ordered a tougher trimmer line; the last one snapped like spaghetti. It cost a few dollars more, but if it saves her time (and muttered monologues at inanimate objects), it’s a bargain.
As for me, my feet have been touchy—kidney issues flaring a bit—so I’m pacing myself. Still, between the two of us, the yard looks tidy. Cooler days, slower growth, smarter gear: we’ll take every advantage we can get. If the heat returns, we’ll be ready—with sleeves, stronger string, and a healthy respect for anything with three leaves.
For now, I’m calling it a win: a calm run, a nearly invisible mowing path, and the faint hope of a skipped Saturday with coffee instead of carburetors. August, behave yourself.
