what the grass taught me

two summers ago, my dad came to me

and said, "here, let me show you how to mow the lawn."

every week, then, he had me cut the grass

and it was fun, at first,

to see my progress,

smell the sunny green,

hear everywhere the hum and buzz of summer.

even sweat was something --

proof of labor and accomplishment.

but the summer went on

and the heat climbed

and sometimes rain fell;

I grew to dread my dad's request and wished

that for once

he wouldn't ask of me

a task that made me sweat and pant and push myself so hard --

wished he'd at least buy a riding mower.

breezier.

easier.

then the summer ended and I was growing-grass-less.

the mower sat

with dry grass shreds in our storage room,

faintly redolent of hot summer and gasoline.

last summer, I had to mow again.

I knew what to expect now, 

and though mowing wasn't fun, 

I felt the building strength within my body and

the pleasure of a job well-done.

it's funny: 

daddy never said anything more

about mowing the grass 

besides "could you do it?" or

"looks great. thanks sweetheart."

did he know what I learned,

as I learned to mow?

did he want me to see for myself the things the grass taught --

things I never knew?

I never knew clean water was so precious. 

I never knew how delicious it could be, ice-cold.

I'd never known what a treasure the breeze was,

nor how lovely a bird's song is.

mowing

made me realize the brevity of life;

how quickly we pass and are blown aside,

forgotten.

mowing

made me love this life I have, though --

warmed by the sun,

watered by the rain,

growing, reaching for the sky.

(thankful, too, for parents who uncomplainingly did jobs like these

for me, all my life.)

the smell of grass became a rich reminder to grow,

to keep trying,

even when I'm challenged.

discouraged.

keep mowing.

I look at the grass and see a training for perseverance;

I see a chance to mature,

diligently fulfill my responsibilities.

grow.

grass showed me the richness of work 

and the sweetness of rest.

despite all this,

mowing would never be my dream job.

I'll be shuffling through crisp leaves and clipped grass

at art school this fall,

and pictures worth these thousand words

call me from their invisible obscurity

on still-blank pages;

too, an unmowed field will call my heart

sooner than a pristine lawn.

(ah, dandelions!)

but cutting grass strips growth right down to bald facts.

it forces you to face yourself,

weed out the stunting shade, 

even see the burning sun's benefits.

like vitamin d. 

if only this, what cutting grass taught me

is to always push -- push -- push --

forward.

upward. 

onward.

I will need that no matter what I do

in art or life. 

so this year, when the snow passed and the sun shone brighter

I noticed the grass begin to grow --

a little ruefully, perhaps,

knowing we'd need to mow soon.

it rained.

the sun came again.

a breeze stirred.

daddy was out of town on a business trip

but -- I'd done this for two years now.

I got out the mower. 

I changed the oil and filled the gas tank.

I pulled the starter.

as the engine came to life, it came to me

-- hello, grass --

that now I'm in it for the next six months.

once, that would have bothered me, 

but now I want to see

what lessons the grass will teach

this year. 

whoever said

"one job may change your life"

was right. it can.