Mark Wilcox

While I had my doubts if would ever happen, the snow has left my yard (for the most part). It seems that it was only a week or so that there was at least two feet of the white stuff (OK, it was pretty much gray stuff by then), covering our big yard in west Houghton. But by last Saturday it had melted enough that I was able to go out and finish the leaf raking I started in October and was halted when about 15 feet of snow fell pretty much overnight.

Alright, that’s an exaggeration, but you were there, you know what I’m talking about. And now, while I’m thrilled that the snow is gone, I’m not to wild about what lies beneath it. It is difficult to describe the color of my yard right now … a mixture of dead grass, mud, moss and other unpleasant stuff (we’ve got two dachshunds). I guess if “yuck” were a color, that’s the color of my yard at present.

However, I know that with a bit of patience, and a bit of work, the yuck will turn to a lush green before the grandkids are out of school for the summer. It will be nice … and it will be green. It will look like grass. But not the “grassiest grass” I’ve ever seen,

That was grass so brilliant and unexpected it nearly took my breath away. And I can tell you exactly where and when. It was the middle of June before my Senior year of high school, which would make it 1974. The Rock 4-H club, of which I was a member and my parents were leaders, went on its annual summer trip. We did this every year (which I guess is why it was called “annual” duh). We would borrow one of the Rock School busses and my dad would drive. These trips were usually over-nighters and for the most part we stayed in the U.P. My first visit to Copper Harbor and Ft. Wilkins was on one of these trips in the late 60s.

But now I was one of the elder members and got to sit in the back of the bus. (which was handy as both my parents were chaperones on the trip). This particular trip, in June ’74 was to Milwaukee. The big city. We visited the Milwaukee County Zoo, a Frank Lloyd Wright house. an Eastern Orthodox church, WISN TV studios and the Mayfair Mall. I remember that mall had an indoor ice rink. It was the first time I had ever seen an indoor rink … or a mall! All of these were firsts for most of us and pretty darn cool for a bunch of Yoopers from Rock.

But it wasn’t at any of these stops that I saw the “grassiest grass.” It the day before we left to return back home. We went to Milwaukee County Stadium to see the Milwaukee Brewers. I had never been to a baseball game before, but my friend Scotty had a couple of times, and even though he was a couple of years younger than me, he was my Yoda as far as me and MLB was concerned. (of course I realize this was about six years before anyone had ever heard the word Yoda, but you get the picture.)

Milwaukee County Stadium was surrounded by a huge parking lot, and the bus parking spaces were way in the back. So the 20 of us, on that hot June day, walked for about 10 minutes toward the biggest building I had ever seen. And the home of the grassiest grass,

We went through the gates and into the underside of the structure, all concrete and steel. We found the number to our section and row and walked up the flight of steps … and then I saw it. It was like when Dorothy opened the cottage door after landing in OZ. I had never seen anything like it. My first major league baseball field. The sand was so clean, not like the sand on the beach at the Rock Lions Park. The lines on the field were brilliantly white. And the grass … it really did take my breath away. I had never seen anything. It was like the scene out of a movie. To call it green would be a disservice. Calling it the greenest would fall short. I was the “grassiest.” That’s the only way I can describe how the sight of that field struck me. It was a long time ago and I still remember it so vividly . I can tell you how long ago it was. We bought a program at the game and the player who’s picture was on the cover was the Brewers 18 year-old rookie short stop with the funny name … Hall of Famer Robin Yount.

I’ve been to a few baseball games since that June of 1974. And I’ve seen a couple of pretty cool ball parks … that one on the corner of Michigan and Trumbull in 1984. And on a family trip to Boston we saw a monstrous green wall. And at one game, I looked past third base and saw the Rocky Mountains. But every time I step into a major league ballpark, no matter where it is, I’m transported, for just a moment, to that hot June day among a gaggle of Rock 4-Hers, hypnotized by the grassiest grass I’ve ever seen.