The Tale of the Green Grass

It was a green lawn, a very green lawn, a green green lawn.

And big. Yes, it was the first green lawn to grow green on the very first day of spring. A broad expanse of grass that covered a broad expanse of rich topsoil in an awakening springtime world.

Very big. Very green.

On this very first day of spring, every blade of grass in this green lawn felt a justifiable sense of pride. Each blade knew it was one part of something very big and very green. Each blade looked around just to admire the sight of it all. And each blade would have smiled at that sight if blades of grass had lips. Because a very green lawn on the very first day of spring is a sight worth seeing, as everyone who has seen such a sight surely agrees.

Yes, every single blade of green grass was smiling somewhere within. Because every single blade of green grass could feel itself standing up tall and high and proud on this day, each blade equally important, each blade contributing its own special green something to the whole vast greenness of the big green lawn.

This special green pride continued for a whole day, almost.

Right up until one green blade of grass decided it was taller than the others. The tall blade could see the tops of those other puny green blades far below, perhaps a full inch lower to the ground. Right away, the tall blade understood exactly what this meant: One blade of grass was more special than the others. Oh yes, the tall blade knew that it was the most special single blade of grass on that vast big whole green lawn.

The tall blade of grass began to feel entitled. Entitled to more minerals from the topsoil around it, entitled to more rain from the sky when the rain began to fall later during that very first lovely spring day. It was obvious, very obvious, that the tall blade was entitled.

Obvious to all, perhaps, but the other blades of grass growing all around the tall blade.

Now, one by one, each blade began to feel entitled too. Entitled to more than the other blades growing all around it. Entitled to more of the minerals in the rich topsoil. Entitled to more of the rain that fell from the sky.

Sure, because this blade decided it was a prettier green than any of the others. And that blade decided it was broader and stronger than the other blades of grass. And then still another grassy blade decided its roots were growing deepest into the topsoil. And on it went, oh sure, on and on and on it all went. One blade of green grass after another blade after still another blade, each one deciding it had some special quality more special than any of the others.

This deciding spread throughout the big green lawn during the very first day of spring and the second and third and fourth days of spring that followed. Yes, oh sure, this kind of deciding often spreads very fast.

Each blade wondered over and over to itself, “Why can’t the others see how special I am?”

Right up until the tall blade of grass stopped deciding and wondering such things for a moment. And took another good look around.

The entire lawn was brown now. Light brown expanses that looked like straw mixed among dirty dark brown blotches, all dry despite all the springtime rain. Oh sure, yes, that vast big whole lawn somehow had nearly dried itself dead. Somehow.

The tall blade of grass stopped feeling any sense of pride. So did the pretty green blade and the strong, broad blade and the deep-rooted blade. (Though, in truth, those blades no longer were so tall or pretty or broad or deep-rooted anymore.) Every blade of grass on that big big brown brown lawn soon felt very different than before.

And each blade began to wonder to itself, “What is wrong?”

This was just before the tall blade of grass dipped his tall blade to offer the pretty green blade below a big sip of rain water, yes, rain water that had collected on the tall blade. And this inspired the pretty green blade to tilt just enough to share that water with the strong, broad blade. Which, in turn, shared that water with the deep-rooted blade.

Now many of the other blades of grass, sure, lots of other blades began to share their rain water with one another too. Seeing this, still other blades of grass on the big lawn pulled in their roots just enough – enough, that is, to allow the blades nearby to draw more of the minerals from the rich black topsoil.

And on it went, oh sure, on and on and on it all went. One blade of grass after another blade after still another blade, each one deciding it would share something with the other blades of grass nearby.

This deciding spread from one blade to another to another and on and on to still others, yes, spreading throughout the big lawn during the fifth and sixth and seventh days of spring that followed. Funny but, yes, this kind of deciding sometimes can spread even faster than the other kinds.

And on the seventh day, the tall blade of grass took another good look around again. Looking all around at the vast lawn that spread all all around everywhere, the tall blade felt a greater sense of pride than ever before in its tall grassy life.

The entire lawn was green again. Full and thick, very big and very green.

Oh yes, the tall blade understood now that each blade on that big vast green lawn was one part of something very big and something very green. Each blade somehow different in some way or some other way. But each blade in some way contributing its own important green something.

The tall blade would have smiled at that thought if blades of grass had lips.

MORAL: We each grow best when we recognize that we’re part of something larger than ourselves.