When Spring Comes to an End

May 2026. The southwest of Portugal is making a shift. From the green hills and valleys of winter, dotted with yellow oxalis flowers, to the explosion of color in early spring — by mid-May, the drought begins to set in. Flowers hurry to produce seeds, and from the second half of May it is relva-time: grass flowering. But very soon the grass turns yellow.

April and May are the months when people start to mow. In Portugal, it is the law to mow before summer, because of the high fire risk when the country — especially the south — turns dry. The law requires that grass within 50 metres of a house be cut, to protect people and their homes.

But something else seems to fuel people to mow so frantically. We suffer from the 'green lawn syndrome'. Everything has to be fashionably short and preferably green. When grass grows tall, it becomes a little messy. It spills over the paths we walk. Perhaps it also reminds us that life is temporary — what was once fresh and green is now turning yellow. It unsettles the order-loving eye.

Here in the community, people mow too. That is good. A safe, cleared circle around the house will not burn when fires come. But the mowing is not always good for the ecosystem. Along with the grasses, many flowers are cut down — often before they have had time to produce seeds. Gradually, these flowers disappear from the landscape. The ecosystem loses diversity, color, and the insects that depend on them.

Portugal is rich in grass species, and growing between them: orchids and wild gladioli, different kinds of daisies, wild carrot and wild artichoke. The last grey-leaved thistles flower purple just as the grass has turned yellow. The combination of grey-green, purple and gold is breathtaking — especially in the early morning or late afternoon, when the sun is low and the yellow grasses turn golden.

A dying meadow is beautiful.

This is why I am always the last to mow. A dying meadow is beautiful, and I want to preserve its biodiversity. It also feels like a small act of respect for the full life of a plant — including its dying. Even then, I leave little islands where the last flowers bloom. They stay through the whole summer, until rain and wind bring them to the ground. But that is also when the whole cycle begins again — with a thin layer of fresh grass seedlings quietly sprouting.

This is an ode to grasses, because they defy our expectations of control. Let it be wild, let it die, and let it remind us that this wildness and impermanence also live in us. Let us enjoy every moment of life — because the Portuguese meadows show us how short it is.

Wende