Review: The Erotics of Cutting Grass by Kate Braid

The Erotics of Cutting Grass: Reflections on a Well-Loved Life

By Kate Braid

Qualicum Beach: Caitlin Press, 2025

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To pay attention is not a small thing, and as life whips past us sometimes the years can become a blur. There is always something, or the next thing, or the difficult thing that turns the head, distracting us. What struck me about sitting down this week in moments of quiet throughout my day to read Kate Braid’s new book The Erotics of Cutting Grass was the time she has taken to focus on episodes in her life and breathe into them. The stories are hers, but will be familiar to many because they aren’t the stuff of celebrity or rarity, they are the pieces of life that many of us will relate to. Each of our memories will be a little different, of course, but not so much that we can’t read her stories and see ourselves in them.

If you haven’t had the chance to read some of Braid’s work, The Erotics of Cutting Grass is a great way to get to know her a bit, and to appreciate her straightforward yet poetic prose. She knows her way around a sentence, and writes a good paragraph. That may sound trite, but the words she puts to paper pull one in, engaging the reader in the content of what she’s saying, but also allowing space for contemplation.

I’ve read one of her poetry collections, Elemental (2018); her memoir Journeywoman: Swinging a Hammer in a Man’s World (2012); and its follow-up Hammer & Nail: Notes of a Journeywoman (2021). Reading The Erotics of Cutting Grass called to mind some of her previous writing and escapades, such that it seemed a natural continuation of Braid’s work and life. This book focuses on aging, from the perspective of looking back, and also commenting on the current state of things. In one chapter, “Growing Older,” she talks about two advantages of getting older. The first is not caring so much what other people think of her: “For one thing, I no longer care about what anyone thinks of me; I have enough trust in myself, in my own judgement, that–within the limits of the law–I’ll do what I want, the way I want to do it, looking the way I wish.” The second is acquiring a degree of wisdom after having lived and “had the time to make lots of mistakes and I’ve learned (mostly) the associated lessons.”

Given the self-confidence and wisdom that she has gained with age, her short essays often engage in questioning some really basic things that she sees around her. She’s confident enough to put these questions–probably ones we’ve all had–to paper and be prepared for there to be no solid answer.

Indeed, in a couple of her pieces, Braid struggles valiantly with truly difficult challenges that aren’t easily solvable. “Je Suis Charlie?” chronicles the Charlie Hebdo murders in Paris in 2015, when Braid and her partner were visiting that city. She questions–almost to herself, on the page–the limits of tolerance and freedom of speech, and how we can come together at those limits. “In this time of increasingly crude and violent responses at every level, how do we convene a respectful public debate on the questions crucial to each of us?” This type of deep questioning is also reflected in “Seeking Home,” a chapter that ponders the interaction of colonial settlers and Indigenous peoples in Canada. Braid is struggling with difficult concepts, and I sense that she wants to raise the hard questions as she looks back over her experiences, even if she doesn’t have the answers. Sometimes, it’s the ability to see the question that can be important, and to not shy away from it.

I loved her chapter titled "Me and Pablo Casals.” Braid was fifty-three when she learned to play the cello. I’m also fifty-three years old and sometimes you think, “that’s about it, what else can I do?” I don’t think this everyday, but sometimes. Braid learned the cello and it enriched her, but she didn’t do it forever. It was a moment, a brief journey into the heart of the stringed instrument’s power, and her power in playing it. “Most of my friends, though mystified, were happy for me. Perhaps it showed that I was still alive, that to be fifty-three and outrageous, is a good sign.” There’s a great sense of droll humour in this piece, perhaps the irreverence that is granted with age, the dry wit of looking back on one’s own behavior and finding it wonderful and a bit hilarious.

“Honouring ‘Why?’” is a beautiful example of how Braid captures the essence of her exploration of Buddhist practice in such a short essay. Her introduction to the Buddhist practice is a common one, I suspect, and also reminiscent of my own. “However long I sat–for five minutes or forty-five–I came to see how I always felt calmer after, grounded in my own shameless body, more ready for what the world was offering, the way it was, as opposed to the way I wished it would be.” Her connection with the practice is ongoing, as I hope my own will be.

And the last, short contemplation, "Over Our Heads,” left me in quiet reflection after reading this enjoyable and insightful book. “To sit. Just that. With no intention or thought for when I rise, no leaning forward toward the next action, any action, any activity, any doing, accomplishment, busyness, involvement, diligence or hustle.”

In a busy, bustling world, Braid’s The Erotics of Cutting Grass allowed me to take a breath and to contemplate the stories that our journey offers us. It’s an inspiring call to live fully and be present for the experiences of the everyday that bring both joy and sadness, and constitute a life well lived and loved.