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“Not so!” cried I. For if my dear hubby ever took over the job of mowing our lawns, he would surely break my heart. So, dear friend, in this house, it’s mine all mine!

Mowing grass is by far my favorite of all household chores. I love the white noise, the time alone to think. I love getting to know the piece of land in question; the best way to learn land is to walk it and the best way to walk it is to mow it. I’ve decided against a riding mower for our yard, and The Big Hill, as well. It’s hard work, a bonefide excersize session manipulating our push mower around curves and up hills, over ruts, in and out of shade. It means I can eat Chunky Monkey, thick burgers, or have a glass of wine, guilt free.

And that’s right where I find my freedom with it too: in the exertion. Sweat dripping, bugs flying into my nose, muscels straining, hours of hot work in the sun. Somewhere in there I let go of my stress. Negative energy is purged.

I remember the first time I really threw myself into yard work. I was about 14 and was in between friends. I’d recently, and quite intentionally left my “bad friend Jenna”, with her seventh-grade abortions and burgeoning drug habit. My friendship with Joy was tumultuous and that weekend we were probably on the “outs”. I knew Ronda and Christi but we were all still in Jr. High and I wasn’t quite close to them yet. It was a sunday afternoon and I did not want to go to church for the evening service, choir practice, and feel that I didn’t quite fit in yet again.

So I went outside and mowed the back yard. Then I noticed the azaela and hydrangea bushes on the back line, with years of piled pine needles underneath. I got a rake and….hours later my mom came out and not too disapointedly said more than asked if I wasn’t going in that night. I’d purged all that dread and awkwardness, found freedom from it in a few hours of hard, sweaty work that was solitary, and for the first time, fell in love with dirt.

When I mow or garden I feel strong. I feel the temptation to obsess about externals fall away. I feel connected to the ground, to how we eat, where we come from and where we’re going. I feel raw and natural and green. It’s hard to be pretentious when covered in yard dust and sweat! One gets in touch with oneself, with one’s essense, and learns to be at ease in one’s own skin. Or else the time of it will be maddening, uncomfortable and confrontational. It needs release; you’re not going to be fit to be seen until you shower so go ahead and give into it. Appearances don’t matter, station in life, finances…it all falls away and reality is found in layered mulch and compost, little green things starting to bloom and give up their secrets, the smell of freshly mown grass, and beautiful rows where you’ve gone before emerge from the tangled mess you started with.

This year I’m learning the highs and lows of our little patch of terrain. Where the sun falls, at what time of day, and what wants to grow where. I”m talking to my little apple tree, struggling with something, and producing only two apples. The kids sang Ring Around the Rosy with baby on the porch while I took my break on The Big Hill, and I wondered when this street heard little voices fall in laughter last. I’m dreaming of the gardens to be, wondering if my neighbors see me and wonder if I’m worth my weight in uncooked grits, still uncertain of how I fit in this town. Someone planted mint where the shed is now and little bits of it’s nearly invasive-self are popping up around the foundation. It’s lemony. A train goes by, no longer whistling for a town without a crossing. Time is standing still as long as I’m in the yard. The cold shower is like the starting gun, shocking me back into life. But for a little while, for a green reverie, I stood behind a mower and listened to what was around me. I gave away my pressures and the ground absorbed it. Freedom smells like grass and heat and gas fumes and the salty sweat on my nose.

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