The Best Part of Mowing My Lawn Last Weekend
The best part of this essay would have been if I had been up early enough to hear it aired today on WVTF Public Radio. But I can still listen and so can you because the radio station has it posted on their website. You can hear me reading it HERE.
It was probably the last time this year that I or my husband will mow the two acres of grass that surround our log home off the Blue Ridge Parkway. But that wasn’t the best part of mowing the lawn this past weekend. The best part was the perspective it gave me.
Unlike in summer, it’s cool enough now to mow at a leisurely pace. I putter around as if our rider mower was a convertible with the top down, and I was taking a Sunday drive. From the far corners of our yard, I can see our property from new angles, take it all in from a distance, and appreciate the life we’ve made.
I love knowing that, as I mow, my husband is in our woods with his chain saw getting us firewood for the stove this winter. I feel grateful when I pass by the shed he built to store wood, equipment, and gardening tools. Watching out for the golf balls left in the yard from his putting and chipping practice, I take in the pungent smell of the wild mushrooms that I’ve inadvertently run over, and make a mental note that some of our roses should be replanted in the spring to a sunnier part of the yard.
The vegetable garden looks dead, full of dried up corn stalks and plants that have gone to seed, but I know there’s still food growing there, a few cool weather crops, lettuce and turnips. Butternut squash, once hidden by the lush growth of summer, is finally revealed. The pumpkins for Halloween have turned from green to orange, and although most of the butterflies have moved on to warmer climates, my zinnia flowers are still bearing their attractive colors.
Avoiding the plastic bucket used to mark a yellow jacket’s nest in the ground, I smile as I pass by our clothesline full of laundry hanging in the mid-day sun, glad to have made the choice not to own a dryer. The lowering sun this time of year casts a golden glow, making our yard shine with a richness that’s not noticeable during other seasons.
Careful not to mow too close to the lamppost in the wilder part of our yard (that I have named Narnia), I run over small crab apples and twigs that have dropped to the ground. I duck under branches as I wind my way back out into the open, feeling nostalgic when riding by the spot where the soccer goals used to be. For over 10 years they were a landmark in the landscape of our yard and in our lives. Countless neighborhood games were played here when my sons were growing up. It was just this summer that my husband loaded the goals in his truck and took them over to Floyd’s Blue Mountain School, knowing they would get more use there.
With our dog Jasmine looking on, I frown as I think how summer has too quickly slipped by. When I ride by our sprawling rope hammock, I regret the missed opportunities to spend time in it. The bird feeders need to be filled. The deer have been munching on our youngest fruit trees, and we still haven’t built the deck on the east side of the house.
But a wide smile returns to my face as I turn a corner and notice something new. The oldest apple tree in our yard has produced fruit for the first time. I circle around to whiz by it again so I can count the number with my eyes. More than a dozen, I see.
Brushing aside the sticky tangle of a spider web dangling invisibly from a branch of pine, I shift into low gear and steer the mower towards the shed to park it for the last time this year. The roar of the engine, like summer itself, comes to an abrupt halt. In the quiet that follows, my mind drifts to the future, remembering the taste of apples baked in Thanksgiving pies.
October 17th, 2007 9:35 am
Beautifully written. I felt like I was riding right along with you.
October 17th, 2007 9:49 am
Beautiful. So lovely to read and experience along with you.
Reminds me of my grandparents property in FL, and riding with my Papa on the mower and tractor.
Thanks for making me remember those times today.
October 17th, 2007 10:15 am
Yes. Memories of my youth and memories of what I get to experience now-a-days. I don’t hang my clothes out on the line, though. My mom used to and the smell of clothes drying in fresh air was wonderful. But I find that the sun fades everything too much for me. Once I retire and live in faded jeans and a T-shirt then it will not matter! Wonderful writing—as it is like a painting.
October 17th, 2007 10:58 am
That was so lovely Colleen, makes me miss my old house. It would be time to cut back the honeysuckle right now if I still lived there.
October 17th, 2007 11:30 am
Lovely, lovely autumnal essay, Colleen. It seems almost a miracle that your apple tree bore apples for the first time. Down here in the NC mountains where I live, the old orchard above our house for the first time had no apples at all this year. It makes us sad because it has been our fall tradition to walk up there and pick up the old, lumpy, wormy apples and make loaf afer loaf of apple bread and cake out of them. *Sigh* I guess I’ll have to buy apples this year. 🙁
October 17th, 2007 11:48 am
Perspective a beautiful thing thank you sk
October 17th, 2007 12:07 pm
I must confess that this essay was written last year, not in time to be aired as a seasonal piece, and was recorded this summer at the WVTF station. Mostly it still applies, except the apple tree only has a couple of apples on it this year. I also only got TWO decent pumpkins this year, but a good butternut squash crop.
October 17th, 2007 4:04 pm
Lovely gratitude post, Colleen!
October 17th, 2007 4:32 pm
I was riding along with you, Colleen, peeking over your shoulder, smelling the cut grass and the wide outdoors, even “seeing” the missing goals. You have such a beautiful way with words, and I thank you for sharing it. You also read very well, with crisp, distinct enunciation, so clear. And the music at the end of your reading was perfect. I enjoyed today’s whole production. :^)
October 17th, 2007 4:41 pm
Thank you!
October 17th, 2007 4:52 pm
I agree -mowing is therapeutic.
October 17th, 2007 6:06 pm
Yes, the cyclical flow of the season’s last times flowing into the next season’s first times!
(Well, I hope we don’t have the first snow shovel activity for quite some time to come!)
October 17th, 2007 6:38 pm
Really nice, colleen. Now, if I could only get my lawn-mowing husband to enjoy what he feels is a chore, despite our tiny patch of lawn here in the woods.
I thought WVTF had stopped the essays; could’ve sworn Fred First said they were no longer recording them. HUH! I’ll have to submit some more; I had a great time recording one awhile back.
October 17th, 2007 8:15 pm
WVTF is no longer doing Friday morning essays, but they still record some to be used here and there. It’s not ideal for readers and listeners, not having a regular slot but better than having no venue. Usually I get few calls or emails from people who have heard after mine have aired, but this time I got no response (at least not yet). Not the best slot for an essay during their fundraising, I suspect. Let me know if one of yours is aired, Marion. I missed the one you did.
October 17th, 2007 10:04 pm
So beautifully written, Colleen….I could see it all, and even feel I could smell the new mown grass….I have some bees posted again on a different flower than I’ve shown before….And I was reminded that I heard Jerry Seinfeld say on Oprah, (while touting his new movie called “BEE MOVIE”, that the problem wiuth the disapearing bees have to do with Cell Phonesw!!! OY VEY! I must check that out. I am sure he was giving out accurate info, it’s just it was quickly passed ovedr….Anyway, we have talked about the bees before and what is happening to them…This is the first information that sounds like it might have real value.
I LOVED this post, Colleen…Truly!
October 18th, 2007 1:33 am
I listen to our local public radio as I drive down the lake to school each day. I will pretend I am hearing you on the radio as I listen to you read this essay. We also have local essays read in the morning. This reflective essay made me pause and be thankful for the changing season. If it wasn’t so late I would want to do a “tour” as you did to see the changes. Thanks for reminding me of those small things where we live that make it all worthwhile.
October 18th, 2007 1:58 am
Your writing is so filled with imagery and passion — you have a true gift of making your readers feel like they are right there!
Right now, things are still green here in Chicago. It’s been unseasonably warm and the colors are just now beginning to change. It will be one of those seasons where you go to bed with the tree in your backyard filled with green leaves and you wake up to 25 degree weather, frost and a bare tree (along with a yard 3feet deep in brown leaves!)
October 18th, 2007 4:52 pm
A lyrical ode to the end of summer. Lovely.
October 19th, 2007 8:53 am
Colleen, you are a true storyteller, capturing your audience, taking them along with you so closely that we can smell the grass and taste the anticipation of apple pies.