"It is Good."

 

I was four or five when my family moved out to Carriage Lane, to the country, or the boonies, as we called it.  

The house was placed on 1.65 acres of Florida pine-laden, sandy soil, with an expanse of land for a front yard.

I saw bare land.
My parents saw their dream.

With hundreds of tiny sprigs of St. Augustine grass, our family kneeled in the sand,
dug holes, buried the runners,
standing with a hose spraying well water,
urging the runners to sprint.

Between Florida sun, daily summer rains, and the regular back and forth spread of nitrogen, phosphorus, and potassium, the grass grew and grew.

From that bare plot eventually grew a miniature Garden of Eden, full of chest-high azaleas, shoulder-high camelias covered in pink blooms, dogwoods, oaks, and roses.

I’m not sure, but it seems like I couldn’t even see over the handle of the red Toro push mower the first time I was given the privilege of being like Daddy and
pushing the vibrating beast over ankle-high St. Augustine,
learning to create squares,
seeing the line between the cut and uncut,
adjusting the mower to get a full cut with the right wheel just over the edge,
turning 90 degree angles again and again until there was only one swath left.

Every week without fail, the whole family converged on the yard—pulling weeds, raking pine needles into piles to create our large driveway, trimming bushes, and most importantly, mowing.

How I loved the rumble
And the clean lines that defined that job.
The power,
The clarity of the work,
—and  don’t forget the sweat—
But all was worth it when it was complete.

Here I am, maybe 48 years after my first mow behind that red Toro.

As I pull the handle on my red and black Honda,
I still see the yellow wooden toy block my parents drilled and used as a handle on the Toro when the plastic handle broke.
I still hear Dad’s voice, “See the line, Kim?”
I still feel the cleanness of my edges along the sidewalk, the curb, the plant beds.
I still turn my 90 degree angles,
I sweat and sweat and sweat,
But the sense of accomplishment and joy is there—

As I look over my back and front yard,
I also imagine I feel a bit what Mom and Dad did on Carriage Lane,
Perhaps a bit what God did on Day 7:

“It is good.”