Wild daisies. Lillian Lake photo
I spent a few hours raking the lawn today, saving it from its near conversion to a hay field. The lawn mower was taken in for service and it took four weeks to get it back. During that time, we had day after day of rain, which made every plant and lively tree a luscious green and fed the lawn nicely. A plethora of wildflowers grew everywhere, some of which I picked and brought into the house to bring color to otherwise drab, rainy days. White wild daisies and yellow buttercups are beautiful in a small cobalt blue vase.
Despite the back flies and suspicion of ticks hiding in the lawn clippings, I enjoy working outside. Raking and hauling off the clippings isn’t in my job description. I’m sure I specifically said that in my marriage vows – no window washing either! The latter of which I have fervently clung to. Today was an exception. And anyway, when I see something needs to be done, I just “git ‘er done.” My husband grins when I say, “Know why I did it?” He always responds, “Yep. Cause that’s the kind of gal you are”. Which may only sound clever and cute to us.
A few decades ago, there was a January when my husband was in Mississippi for a two-week conference. We hadn’t had much snow yet that winter. As I recall, there was hardly any. Once he was safely out of town, the snow came down and didn’t stop until we had two feet! And then it snowed again. If you aren’t aware of New England winter weather, you probably don’t know that you must keep an eye on how much snow piles up on the roof before you go up on it and clear it so more can pile up. That’s how it happened; despite having three little ones under six, I assembled the ladder and climbed it to shovel off the roof as fast as I could before they all got up from their naps. I underestimated the time I needed, which meant I was up and down several times to check on them, admonishing the eldest that mommy required his help in keeping an eye on his sisters. Fortunately, after a couple of hours, my neighbor came over and asked if he could give me a hand. The two of us made short work of the rest of the pushing and shoveling, even as darkness settled in. Days are short in the wintry mountains of Maine.
As I raked and hauled the grass clippings, I thought about the snowstorm. I remembered how, during my growing-up years, before anyone gave much thought to being a single mom, Mom and I, throughout the year, would keep the roof cleared, the half-mile driveway plowed, the garden planted, and the lawn mowed. She didn’t teach me to ask for help, but she taught me well, independence and the drive to do what needs to be done. ‘Cause that’s the kind of gals, we were.
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