Mowing Shoes
Our garage, much like the garages of most folks I suspect, is a catch-all for all manner of accumulated possessions, tools, gadgets, toys, cast-offs and what not. Comfortably ensconced atop a rickety shelving unit is a turtle planter (waiting for weather conditions ripe enough to allow me to fill it with dirt, flowers, sunshine, hope and love), a garden tchotchke (one of three that I purchased at Earl May a few years ago, each resembling a kind of robotic woodland creature) tucked away in the upper right corner of the frame and my trusty, grass-stained mowing shoes: New Balance #381.
Trash Amnesty, that much anticipated rite of spring cleaning, is our cue to dig a little deeper to see what else is lurking in the shadows of our garage (and other dark, hidden spaces) so that we might create additional space for yet more stuff to fill the void (of our lives?).
My mowing shoes, however, will stay right where they are: Ready to spring into action whenever the lawn needs trimming.
An Enjoyable Task
Tonight, we mowed the yard for the first time this year. I love the neat, orderly look of a freshly trimmed lawn. I love the smell of grass. I love the physical exertion required to push the mower, in sometimes playful, elaborate patterns, across the length or the width or the diagonal of our property’s dimensions. (I opted to mow the length of the back yard this first time out. A quick glance out the window, just now, tells me that Bill chose to do the same for the front.)
My contribution to finishing this task took just under thirty minutes. Not quite enough to satisfy my self-imposed daily exercise requirements. Perhaps I’ll have to tackle the whole thing next time around. I will, however, let Bill do the more demanding chore of mowing along the fence line (his preference, anyway) so that I don’t chew up the wheels on our new mower – like I did sometimes with the last one – by getting too close to the screws along the bottom plate of our wrought iron fence.
For now, though, I’m pleased with the results and the energy expended to get the job done. There will be plenty more opportunities in the weeks and months ahead to repeat what’s essentially, for me, a most enjoyable task.
Sunshine
We’re almost seven days into spring and while last week delivered some gorgeous temperatures and the promise of warmer weather, Mother Nature has decided to pull back a bit, apparently hesitant to fully commit herself to sunny days and blue skies just yet. We Iowans aren’t so easily fooled, in any case. Practical and no-nonsense to a fault, there are those of us waiting for the other shoe to drop in the form of one more wintry blast of measurable, white, snowy precipitation. Bring it on, Mom, if you are so inclined. We know it won’t last.
And then, before long, we’ll have this. Skies overhead in alternate shades of blue: indigo, turquoise and aquamarine, dotted and streaked with wispy little clouds. Gentle breezes and the scent of new in the air. Bees and butterflies, finches, cardinals, robins and meadowlarks in flight. Squirrels and rabbits exploring backyard nooks and crannies. That beautiful, fresh color of green – hostas! – popping up along walkways and foundations everywhere, yellow daffs, tulips in red, pink, orange and kaleidoscope. A virtual symphony of delight for all of our senses.
Most lovely of all? The warmth and comfort of sunshine. Bestowing light and life to earth’s inhabitants far below. To bask in the sunlight is one of life’s simple pleasures.
So, yes, Mother Nature. Please do. Bring it on.
Midwestern Pride
Barns are cool. I love old barns. A favorite memory is playing with my cousins in the hayloft of their barn, the smell of hay and weathered wood and dairy cattle, the ropes and levers and pulleys. I was fascinated with all of it.
Faithful readers know that I’ve posted photos and references to the Iowa Barn Tour which is held in the fall. There is a spring tour as well although it is limited to just a handful of Iowa counties. The tour features historic restored barns throughout the state, many on heritage farms that have been in families for generations.
I love family farms, cows and pigs and chickens and goats. When I was in middle school, I recall wanting to marry a farmer. It occurs to me now that a more progressive notion would have been a yearning to become a farmer myself. But I digress.
Today is the first day of spring and farmers will soon take to the fields. Before long, driving along the interstate or along rural country roads will reveal acres of freshly plowed topsoil and before long pops of green – corn and soybeans – will push through to grab some Iowa sunshine. Native Iowans will monitor the progress of crops throughout the growing season and proclaim admiration for clean fields and tsk-tsk those acres marred with intruding weeds and unwelcome volunteers.
Agriculture is a proud Iowa tradition although family farms have been in decline for many years. An unwelcome (and some might argue unsavory) addition to Iowa agriculture is the advent of company farms. I pity those farm families living in close proximity to the many turkey farms that have sprung up across the state in recent years (the odor emanating from these large, boxy, uninspiring, enclosed structures is appalling). There is also much concern regarding soil erosion and water pollution. The makeup of Iowa’s agricultural heritage is changing and faces some serious challenges.
Iowa’s farming roots – our family structures, like these barns, and our rural communities – have changed and waned somewhat over the years. Still, though, there is much to cherish and much to be proud of. Iowa is known for her good people, strong work ethic and friendly ways. ‘Progress’ cannot diminish what we hold dear. These sturdy old barns, lovingly cared for and restored, embody much of what is best about our state and the Midwest region. I love these old barns and I cherish our way of life here in America’s heartland.
Homebound
As winters go, we can’t really complain. January, bless her heart, was fairly mild. A few bone-chillers but lots of sunshiny days with temps in the 30s, 40s and 50s. Now February is upon us. Day One is perhaps suggestive of more still to come this winter. Mother Nature, most likely, isn’t quite done with us yet. Around the metro area here in central Iowa, we’re getting reports of nine, ten, eleven inches and more of this beautiful white stuff. The winds are starting to pick up and roads are slick with ice.
And so, it is a perfect day to hunker down indoors with a good book, a hook and a skein of yarn, a good movie. I’m scrutinizing the possibilities. Later, I’ll whip up a bubbly, fragrant, heart-warming pot of soup. I’m even contemplating another go at ciabatta bread with its heady, yeasty, tantalizing texture and amazing aroma. I’ve emptied the garbage, made the beds and folded laundry. Husband is painting the living room after an Oscar-worthy performance of clearing our driveway and sidewalks. I suspect he’ll be back at it again later in the day.
Let the winds howl and the snow fly. We’re comfy. We’re safe. We’re home. It’s all good.
Blogging 101: Be Inspired by the Neighbors
Yesterday we were tasked with posting comments on a few select blogs that we had not ever commented on before. Today, we step things up a notch by publishing a follow up post to elaborate further on either one of those original posts or our response to it.
To that end, I’ve selected The Wild Pomegranate. (What a great name for a blog!). In her post entitled Call of the Wild, Grace writes of her struggles as a single parent. Her hardships are something I was able to relate to. Pregnant and married at eighteen to my first real boyfriend, our ‘wedded bliss’ lasted only two years. Jim didn’t stick around very long after that and while ordered to pay child support, only did so for the first year following our divorce.
Money was always tight. I remember a line from the Dolly Parton movie Best Little Whorehouse in Texas where Dolly spoke of the joys of always carrying a fifty dollar bill in her purse. I could only dream of such a thing. I was fortunate to still have $5 on me come payday or any money left in my checking account, for that matter. Always broke, often overdrawn, downtrodden, alone, depressed and envious of the lifestyle and ‘good life’ that I saw everyone else in my world enjoying – my friends, sisters and co-workers – I often threw caution to the wind and indulged in new clothes, shoes, partying and fun. It was a vicious cycle. Lines of credit extended at favorite shopping haunts and Visa and Master Card were definitely NOT my friends as I increasingly (and repeatedly) maxed them out. Debt begets depression which begets debt and so on and so forth. It is an ugly and gut-churning feeling, lying in bed at night wondering if the check you wrote to pay the light bill will bounce – again – or to open your mailbox to find multiple overdraft statements, day after day, week after week, month after month, year after year.
I finally was able to break free when I decided to quit my job to go to college. Turns out I was smarter than my previous poor judgment and choices would indicate. I did quite well in school. Student loans, grants and numerous scholarships enabled me to finish first my AA degree at a local community college and then my bachelor of science degree at Iowa State University. At first, I only planned to pursue a drafting degree. Early on, however, I realized this wasn’t a good fit for me but math and programming (surprise, surprise – I avoided math courses of any kind in high school) were subjects in which I was quite proficient.
Quitting my job to go to college was the best decision I’ve ever made. Many struggles and hardships led to this choice and because of these and other difficulties I endured in my twenties and early thirties, I have a great appreciation for what I have – and where I am – today.
Assignment: Blogging 101: Be Inspired by the Neighbors
Keepsakes
With camera in hand, safari-style, I gathered up a few items – mementos and keepsakes – from various rooms throughout the house, plucked from the kitchen counter, the dresser in our bedroom, the desk in our office, a shelf in the guest room.
Color. Texture. Remembrance.
- A painted plate from a holiday craft venture with my son
- The unique picture frame with a photo of my father
- The silk comb I wore in my hair on our wedding day nineteen years ago
- Sawdust and wood-shavings from Dad’s sawmill in a Mason jar, tied with a bow made from a strip of fabric from one of his old flannel shirts
Yes, these are a few of my favorite things.
Role Models
Unlike both my mother and my mother-in-law, I hope to remain physically active into my 70s and I don’t just mean mall walking or potting a few container plants come spring and fall. I want to hike the Rocky Mountains and shoot my .22 and ride my bike and golf and maybe even discover a new passion or two as the years go by.
Like both my mother and my mother-in-law, I hope to have perfected a variety of recipes – dinner entrees and baked goods that I can whip up without having to refer, again and AGAIN, to what’s written in my flour-smudged cookbooks or scribbled onto recipe cards.
Unlike my mother-in-law, I hope to continue to travel and seek new adventures, always finding joy in the facets of our everyday lives, appreciating and seeking to commune with nature and exploring the world all around me – both close to home as well as across the globe.
Unlike my mother, I hope to still have my husband at my side, healthy and well, alive and kickin’, until death comes knocking on the door for both of us at once. I’ve seen how difficult it has been for her to carry on without Dad and while she’s managing just fine now, it has been a horrible struggle for her and I hope not to go there.
Like my mother-in-law, I hope to continue enjoy playing cards with family and friends. A few years ago we held a Game Night at our house and it was so much fun that I’m wondering even as I write this why it is that we haven’t organized something like this again since then. Note to Self: Arrange for a little soirée once we’re past the rush and tumble of the holidays!
Like my mother, I hope to continue to enjoy holiday decorating and landscaping and color and fabric and fun clothes and jewelry. On second thought, I am certain that I will!
Like my mother, I know that I’ll continue to pursue my love of reading.
Like my mother-in-law, I know that I’ll continue to love her son with all of my heart, soul and being.
Like both these women, who play dominant roles in my life to some degree or another, I am my own unique self. I know I have strengths and passions and characteristics they do not and never will possess. But just as well, I am sometimes lacking in areas in which they neither of them struggle, such as patience, calm or restraint.
We all have to strike out on our own, seeking pathways that best suit and fit who we are as individuals but in many ways, we can benefit and learn from those who have walked before us.
Tenacity in Turmoil
Fresh faces, new spaces.
Throwing our all into brand new places.
It took everything we had and then some…
One foot in front of the other. It’s all that we knew to do.
Too many times we feared that we had erred in impossible proportions to anything we’d been called upon to do before this undertaking of ours. There was no light for us, only the darkness of the tunnel.
Now, at long last, we are able to bask in the glow of our perseverance and we delight in the here and now.
Continue on. Trust in yourself. And know that all things ultimately change. Revel in the good and strive for to deliver yourself from that which is not.
A Sawyer's Daughter 
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