When we bought our little fixer upper and the acreage it sits on, we immediately focused on cleaning, trips to the dump and lots & lots of painting. As we busied ourselves with house and grounds improvement, the 2 ½ acre field that makes up half the property was growing… and growing. To the point where the grass, scrub and prickly bushes were waist high.
“I’m going to mow the field,” MyUPSGuy claimed in the driveway of the “little house.”
Now don’t get me wrong. Not for a second do I doubt my husband’s commitment to the field, to us, or to working hard… in fact, he’s one of the hardest working people I know. But I did wonder if we had the right tool for the job.
It was just about this time that…
The skies opened, the angels’ wings flapped gently in the breeze, the smell of divine intervention mixed with that of hundreds of cows from the farm across the street. And behold. A massive white pickup with an American flag flying behind it pulled into our little drive and out stepped… our neighbor Ian.
…who lives two farms over and apparently owns a tractor with a bush hog (whatever that is). Ian welcomed us to the neighborhood and proposed that he would mow our field for… ok, wait for it… just $50.
“For $50?” I asked my husband incredulously.
“Well, he says with the tractor it takes him about an hour, so he thinks the price is fair,” came the reply.
A week or so later the field was cut down and my husband dropped off the $50 and a case of Sam Adams with our thanks to Ian.
Fast forward to a month later as the field was once again growing up.
MyUPSGuy pulled the deck mower over on the back of the trailer and went to town on the 2 ½ acres. Three hours later he was covered with grass and dirt but had a smile that said, “I am one with the land. I mowed the field and made it ours.”
Could we have hired Ian again or someone else to take care of it? I supposed we could have. But I’ll never forget the look of accomplishment on my husband’s face as he finished mowing that field.
It reminds me of when I make homemade chicken broth. There is something about that process that is therapeutic. Could I buy chicken broth at Stop & Shop? Of course. (And I want to state for the record that on many occasions I have). But it doesn’t compare with the feeling of watching the carrots, onion, chicken and herbs cook down into an elixir that is chock full of goodness, ready to treat the common cold.
This week, as I write this, it is nearly time once again for my husband to mow the field. I can just see the pride he feels in our land. And the field? It is now happily growing grass instead of brambles.