Today is the day I traditionally look forward to each year...
It's not Christmas, or my birthday, or even my wedding anniversary. It is not a religious holiday and it does not involve my vacation. It has nothing to do with a major sporting event and it's not about my grandchildren. But it is the day I look forward to from the time I see the first crocus in the spring.
Today should be the last day of 2007 that I'll be mowing the grass!
Although I don't celebrate the day with the same pizazz that I use to, it still is a very special day to me. I guess now "bittersweet" is the emotion I have on this special day. Even though I am thankful that the task will not have to be repeated again until late March or early April, there is still a sense of sadness that another summer has come and gone, and I am another year farther down my journey of life. That's kind of sad, but then again I think of the joy of not having to deal with the grass and I begin to count my blessings.
For many years, mowing the yard was one of the most detestable tasks I had to do - but one that had to be done. I didn't always feel that way. As a kid I WANTED to mow grass. Why is it that little kids always want to "help" mow the grass, but by the time they're teenagers you can't pay 'em to do it? But I digress.
We had one of those old "push" mowers back in those days. Those of you old timers know what I am talking about. For those who don't, the mower was made up of two wheels, a long handle with handle bars, and a cutting mechanism in a cylindrical shape made up of curved blades. As the mower was pushed, the curved blades would rotate and cut the grass into the prettiest clippings you had ever seen. There was no motor involved and it was powered by elbow grease. Since we all had sense enough to keep our hands and feet away from the blades, the most dangerous thing about those old push mowers was when you were really pushing it hard and happened to run over a good sized stick (or some such object) it would jam the blade movement and the mower would come to an an abrupt stop - causing the operator to smash hard into the handlebars. Rough on the chest or chin, depending on how tall you were!
As progress marched on, we soon had a power mower. Dad had finally "retired" from putting out a large vegetable garden and that area was eventually levelled, sown in grass and became a large edition to the back yard. Apparently there was still some debris here and there from the old fence that formerly surrounded the garden. Dad pulled the power mower over a piece of rusty barbed wire approximately three inches long, and it was thrown at high velocity into his ankle sinking nearly all the way through, stopping only by the bent end of the barb. That required a trip to Cabell Huntington Hospital's emergency room where it was unceremoniously pulled out with a pair of pliers. The wound was cleaned, stitched up and Dad was sent home on crutches.
A couple of years later, our neighbor, Mr. Smock, pulled his mower back over one of his feet and mangling his shoe, and losing several toes in the process. The memory of Dad's severe puncture wound and Mr. Smock limping at a full run toward the house yelling, "Eloise, get me to the hospital!" was enough to give me a healthy respect for the power mower. Cutting the grass was much easier, but the neighborhood casualty list was growing at an alarming rate.
As I got older, not only was I expected to mow the yard at the house, but grass cutting for some of the neighbors began to be a source of income and extra spending money. Not bad. But something happened between those days and when I returned from college and got married. When we rented our first house, I suddenly became aware that mowing the grass was something that HAD to be done. There were no brothers to help share the work and my new bride wasn't about to get involved in that job. I guess that's when I began to dislike the task.
Time marched on. Work and ministry tasks took up much of my waking hours. Kids came along and there was always more to do than I had time for. Yet the grass continued to grow and I had to find time to mow it. When we only had the small postage stamp sized yard it was really only a minor inconvenience. But as we purchased more property on either side of my house, and the vacant lot behind us needed care, it became about a 1 1/2 hour job. In the spring and early summer months it grew like gangbusters and often needed mowing twice a week.
The task was complicated by the steep banks that lined two sides of my property. So steep in fact, that mintaining balance and firm footing was almost impossible without some type of cleats. Added to that was the (how shall I say this?) poor physical condition I was in and the deplorable condition of my feet. Poor fitting shoes and lack of good foot care created lots of blisters and callouses that made each step feel like stepping on nails. Mowing grass came to be a dreaded ordeal that I just hated.
Things have changed over the years. I finally purchased a riding mower which made the job much easier. Good care from my podiatrist and proper diabetic shoes helped a lot, as did the wise decision to hire "professionals" to take care of the toughest part of the yard. They have the equipment to do it properly and without falling. I almost hate to say it, but grass mowing in the past three years has actually become something that I do not dread. In fact, this spring and summer I have actually enjoyed the exercise and being outdoors. (Just don't tell my wife about it!)
So, now the last mowing has been done for the season. The mowers are stowed safely in the shed and all is well with the world - for at least four months or so.
Life is good!
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