Fresh Cut Grass
There are three mostly capable boys living here, but I must confess I'm a little reluctant to give them the grass-cutting duties, and not because I think they're incapable, and not because I live in fear as their mother does that somehow they will cut off one of their appendages, but frankly because I like to cut the grass.
The smell of freshly cut grass is the best - my sister referenced it in one of her recent blogs and talked about it being fresh and I suppose that is the smell - one of freshness. Besides I love looking behind the mower and seeing what has been done and looking in front of it to see what is left to do, and then checking it out when its done, knowing that I actually did something, and that there's a fresh start. There's that word again - fresh.
I also think a lot about growing up and cutting the grass at the big house on the hill - five acres of freshness, brothers helping out - my father screaming that we were all going too fast, getting stuck in the area near the septic tank, trying to stay upright as we mowed along the ditch, finishing it up, having a beer and jumping in the pool. It all comes back when I cut the grass here.
And there was the morning I tried to cut the grass when Jake was in the hospital and we wanted to have a party for Matt so he didn't feel left out and I actually ran behind the push mower as I cut the grass at seven in the morning. I didn't feel fresh that day. Didn't enjoy the smell either as I mowed it without picking up the dog crap first.
There are actually a couple of new variables in cutting the grass this year - first off - I have the I-pod - nothing like cutting the grass with Meatloaf's Bat Out of Hell blasting in your ears. That man can flat out sing.
And then there's Paris. Our new dog had no idea what the hell to make of the mower. She ran hard, got close, and ran away, only to repeat it all seven thousand times. I laughed each time, but had to sort of ease up - can't really explain mowing the dog to the kids, but her sense of wonder was catching.
So much to wonder about. So much time to just think. Fresh smell. Bat Out of Hell. The dog going nuts.
Just out cutting the grass.
The smell of freshly cut grass is the best - my sister referenced it in one of her recent blogs and talked about it being fresh and I suppose that is the smell - one of freshness. Besides I love looking behind the mower and seeing what has been done and looking in front of it to see what is left to do, and then checking it out when its done, knowing that I actually did something, and that there's a fresh start. There's that word again - fresh.
I also think a lot about growing up and cutting the grass at the big house on the hill - five acres of freshness, brothers helping out - my father screaming that we were all going too fast, getting stuck in the area near the septic tank, trying to stay upright as we mowed along the ditch, finishing it up, having a beer and jumping in the pool. It all comes back when I cut the grass here.
And there was the morning I tried to cut the grass when Jake was in the hospital and we wanted to have a party for Matt so he didn't feel left out and I actually ran behind the push mower as I cut the grass at seven in the morning. I didn't feel fresh that day. Didn't enjoy the smell either as I mowed it without picking up the dog crap first.
There are actually a couple of new variables in cutting the grass this year - first off - I have the I-pod - nothing like cutting the grass with Meatloaf's Bat Out of Hell blasting in your ears. That man can flat out sing.
And then there's Paris. Our new dog had no idea what the hell to make of the mower. She ran hard, got close, and ran away, only to repeat it all seven thousand times. I laughed each time, but had to sort of ease up - can't really explain mowing the dog to the kids, but her sense of wonder was catching.
So much to wonder about. So much time to just think. Fresh smell. Bat Out of Hell. The dog going nuts.
Just out cutting the grass.
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