The beach grass has matured to the point that I can cut it up to put into the compost, injecting some much-needed nitrogen into the mix. I took a bucket and a pair of clippers down to the beach Sunday to fill it with the long, tough blades chopped into 1-2″ segments (see An Almost Perfect Day). I gloved up; handling the grass bare handed can lead to nasty cuts, like paper cuts only worse.
I find it a meditative chore, repetitive and not at all demanding. My mind wanders freely, and there doesn’t seem to be much exertion to the job.
I qualify that with “seem” because it appears the job is harder on my aging body than I realized. After I finished, my right knee began to ache. It got steadily worse until the next morning, I could barely hobble down to the greenhouse rhubarb patch to pick some for breakfast.
I don’t know what has made this knee weak this year. I hurt it a while back, lifting loads of firewood. I took care of it with devil’s club salve last time, which led to the post on kilts (see Kilt Couture). This time, I used a Tiger Balm® arthritis salve, and Ibuprofen. The latter did most of the heavily lifting, if you will. I’m still on a course of it at the moment. I kneel to pray for a bit in the play, which we perform twice this coming weekend. I don’t want to hurt myself!
I won’t need to cut grass again for a few days at least. Next time I do, I’ll need to pay more attention to the process, to see if I can ease the pressure on my knees. We use the grass both inside the compost, and on top as biofilter. We rely heavily on it as an additive for compost success. In turn, successful compost is key to garden success, so it’s no idle pursuit (see Biofilter Snob). I may have to change my methods, at least until the grass grows high enough that I can stand up straight while cutting it.