There I was on a 90-degree day sweaty, pissed off, and glaring at the lawnmower. No-Mow May was over, and it was time to knock down the veritable meadow growing in our suburban yard space. My yard is a happy place that affords me time to decompress, destress, enjoy the fresh air, get some much-needed vitamin D, and give our homestead some love-labor. All during the month of May, I had ignored the mower’s call. But since bounding out of bed at five a.m. the first Saturday in June, all I wanted to do was mow.
Oh, so many moments. It's almost too hard to count. But the standout wasn't a machine. It was a mechanism. The flush that wouldn't. It did, finally, but that morning my husband heard his wife let loose a string of cursing that would have made a sailor blush. :)