Fighting the Lawn

Today we finally had a lovely day. The weather was perfect. As a loved cousin declared, “Sunshine is natural crack”. I decided we needed a fix.

The yard was in need of some TLC (not that it goes chasing waterfalls) and I was the girl to do it. I put the baby in the stroller, grabbed some yard toys for the Mancub, pulled out my pitiful but faithful green push-mower, and headed to the front yard.

Roaring to life, the mower cut the first line of weeds down to size.

I smiled and looked over at my little ones. They are blooming and growing like weeds.

As I completed the first row of mowing, I had to stop short. The far end of the yard was full of branches that needed to be cleared before mowing that area.

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Then the mower needed more gas. Then I nearly mowed over a dead bird.  Then a ball rolled under the car tire beyond the reach of a little arm.  I had some obstacles.

My mind immediately uprooted a precious gem I unearthed when I was still pregnant with my little Conqueror but knew that we would have special obstacles.

It was story that told of two people who had yards to care for. One day both went out and worked. One person mowed, edged, and watered beautiful flowers. In only a few hours, the work was done and the yard was remarkably beautiful.

The other yard was also remarkable, but for the opposite reason. It was filled with weeds, thorns, poison-ivy, and branches. It took hours to clear those things out of the yard. As it grew dark, the yard looked like hardly any work had been done, although the piles of what was cleared attested to it.

Some yards start with more weeds.

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It takes a lot more work to get to the point others begin with.  I treasure that reminder.

I took a deep breath of pollen and beheaded another row of clover. For some reason I felt a bit burdened in that moment. There is always work to do and things to clear before getting started on the intended task.

 

Then I noticed my two year old smiling and running up to me. He cautiously approached the mower. I stopped to see what he needed when he cautiously reached up to the mower. I placed my hands over his little ones, keeping the engine going. Very, very slowly we took a step. Although his head is as tall as my hip, he had to reach his arms up high to reach the mower’s handle. His little black Vans, still three feet away from the machine,  shuffled behind the humming machine as he leaned in. Bent over, my head was next to his, yelling, “You’re doing it! You’re mowing! Great job!” over the roar.

It wasn’t me against the yard anymore.

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I dearly wish I had a picture of that moment, but I doubt the teen walking his dog across the street took one for Instagram. #Trainthemup #4thgenerationfarmer #Anewchore #Goodmotheringrightthere

 

My heart is full. My yard looks nice. It’s nothing spectacular, but there are no visible weeds right this second…or bird remains for that matter.

When my yard blooms though, it’s really something.

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