I think it was John Updike who said that a person lives his life for thirty years and spends the rest of it trying to understand what happened. At forty-three, I wonder if I have already turned that corner. Have most of my mountains been scaled? Am I now in the valley of self-reflection?
It wasn't tall fescue at all; it was Bermuda. I had sown thousands upon thousands of tall fescue seeds in a small patch of my yard, but time and time again, the Southern sun would burn them off and turn the soil into dust. So I tried another type of seed. The analogy presented itself. The ground can be fertile, but at the end of the day, it is the type of seed we plant that matters.
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