I never actually thought green shoots of grass would have me thinking about gratitude, yet here it is, Dec. 22, and our last-ditch effort to sow some annual rye grass in hopes of anchoring the bare soil around out new house is bearing, well, fruit. Granted, that fruit is in the form of little green stalks of rye grass popping up through the rough grade of our lawn. But instead of a huge mud pit, we actually have a not-so-huge mud pit. There may still be a lot of bare dirt, but I’m grateful for the greening of my piece of America. Can’t ask for much more!