woMan Versus Machine

That time of year is upon me once again when the growing grass outside my home coaxes me outside for its weekly trim; when the dandelion fluffs scatter the yard and sway in the wind, hoping to scatter it's seed before the fertilizer gets to it. Yes, I am the yardmaster in our family, although master is not quite the right word to describe my landscaping prowess or lack thereof.

Before having a child and a blog, both of which require almost equal attention and nurturing for excellent results, I would have almost considered myself a gardener like my bloggy friend Betty Sneeringer (her gardens are amazing). I enjoyed fussing about the azaleas and puttering with the perennials. Now, I just do enough in the yard to ensure the city doesn't get a phone call from my neighbors OK that may be an exaggeration.

The grass doesn't care about my busy schedule, or my crafting project in progress, or my weekly menu planning. No, the grass does what it knows to do and that is to grow, sometimes double the length after an overnight rainfall. And it is my responsibility to take care of the growing grass because it is mine. And because it is mine, my grass, my responsibility, I should find the time amidst the haze of busyness, to hold the look of the yard to the same standard I keep for all the other areas in my life. It's time to see the lawnmower as a release from the busyness and just enjoy it as a vehicle that allows the mind to drift away into new ideas, one pass at a time, up and down, down and up, side to side and back again.

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