While I knew how much I would enjoy having our own yard, I couldn't have anticipated the solace it would provide during these past several months. At the first hint of spring, I sought out creative ways to safely acquire flowers to plant. I strolled through an outdoor nursery for dahlias and freesia, then ordered potting soil for curbside pickup. Our friend left a box of little pots on our porch so that I might plant basil, lavender and lemon balm. These calming fragrant plants went in the rooftop pots closest to my chair where I sit and watch our backyard bunny play under the evergreens.
Soon the grass was tall enough for its first trim. Mowing was a frustrating endeavor last summer due to faulty equipment. The bargain mower I bought from an online swap site taunted me each time I pulled the cord to try and start it. The morning I finally got it running after 17 attempts, one of the wheels broke off. Ah, but this year would be different. When my brother came from Chicago for Thanksgiving, he'd brought me his self-propelled mower with a fancy key-start.
When I first began mowing this season, it helped me feel productive and provided a reason to get out of the house. But it has gradually grown to become something akin to therapy for me. As soon as I open the garage door and seek out my grass-stained tennis shoes, a calm washes over me. I put my favorite Spotify playlist on shuffle before pulling out the mower that starts every single time. As I cut each swath in the yard, the breeze sends my worries far away. Our grass has been the shortest on the block this summer as I've worked my way through anxious thoughts and misgivings.
The irony of my newfound delight with mowing is not lost on me. When I was in junior high, our dad was unexpectedly laid off from his job at Gurney's Seed and Nursery. I can't imagine the stress he must have felt as he scrambled to figure out how to provide for his wife and four children. He decided to put his knowledge and skills to use and start a lawn service. My siblings and I along with Mom rounded out the rest of his crew. I quickly surmised that I fairly loathed my new occupation. I was certain this was not how a teenage girl should have to spend her time. Surely I wasn't meant to be covered from head to toe in dirt and grass, or empty a trailer of clippings that developed a distinct aroma if left too long to bake in the sun. And, oh, the spectacular embarrassment to be picked up after school by a truck pulling the same trailer filled with lawn equipment instead of climbing into cars with friends like my peers were surely doing. The days when our list of yards was especially long, I silently prayed for rain. No, this was not the job for me.
Looking back now, I regret that I didn't fully appreciate this experience. I rarely marveled at the beauty of nature that I encountered on those summer days. I didn't take time to admire the relationships that Dad cultivated while taking care of those of his clients who were elderly or widowed. I wasn't thankful that I had a job to earn money for college. I didn't feel grateful enough for the hours spent on a pickup seat with my siblings, sharing inside jokes and jugs of water. I couldn't understand that our parents were teaching us so much more than simply how to cut in a straight line. This morning as I made the first diagonal path across our back yard, my only wish was that Dad could sit in the shade and watch me go.
