Things That Grow
past, present, and future intertwined
The grass is green and growing again.
My dad loved mowing the grass. Later in life, when he started writing down his thoughts, he called it “Life 22 Inches At A Time.” (Which was the width of his mower deck.) He was already very sick when my husband and I met. One of the few memories my husband has of my dad involves mowing grass.
My husband (though he was merely a boyfriend then) came over and decided to mow the grass. My father was sitting on the porch, enjoying the sunshine and keeping an eye on my boyfriend. Nervous about working the zero-turn mower and cutting the grass properly under such stern supervision, my boyfriend was mowing cautiously. As he came close to the porch, my dad yelled out, “Give it some gas!!” The mowing went more quickly from then on.
That boyfriend turned out to be my last. My husband now mows the same yard every summer.
How time does grow things.
With his work schedule, and the weather’s schedule, the grass can get quite high between mows. After the most recent mowing, we had 5 acres of hay to rake up. As we finished raking one section of the yard, I stood back to admire our little haystacks and was transported back to my childhood.
I was standing in the Art Institute of Chicago, in a new dress I was quite fond of, staring up at one of Monet’s haystacks. I had always loved drawing, but this was the first time I realized someone could be known for their art. A world of dreams and possibilities began to grow inside me. There was so much to see and do in the world and so many ways to capture the beauty and the magic.
The feel of the rake in my hands, which were now prickling with the soreness that comes before blisters, took me on another journey.
It was the start of another elementary school year. The best part about school was recess, and the best part of recess was the monkey bars. My friends and I lived on the monkey bars. This form of habitation (if only for recess) required a particular set of characteristics. You had to be strong, and you had to have tough hands. Calluses that would make the endless climbing painless took time to grow. For those first two weeks, every night and every morning my mother would have to treat and wrap my blistered hands until the blisters eventually gave way to hard calluses. Growth in pain.
Raking and loading mini haystacks takes time, but it takes even longer when you have preschoolers helping. The frustration at the pace gave way to immense joy at watching them work. Little arms piled high with hay, trudging on little legs to the tractor cart. Pile after pile, smiling, uncomplaining, proud of the job they were doing. Growing.
Growing in parenthood. Growing in childhood. Growing in pain. Growing in joy. Growing in loss. Growing in wonder. Growing in grass.
If you enjoyed this post, please consider hitting the ❤️ button and sharing it with everyone you know. Your likes, shares and comments not only make my day, they also help more people discover The Splendid Mess. Thank you!
Touched my heart!
Beautiful photos of lovely people.