It is HOT. Louisiana Summer, middle of a drought (worst in decades, from what I hear). Quite a few triple-digit temps.
And I love it.
If I didn't have places to be I would drive around town with my windows down. Unfortunately, church/lawyer's office/grocery store/daycare is not exactly the place to be smelling like you live in a men's locker room. So I keep my windows up and the air conditioner on.
You're welcome, world.
Well, two weeks ago I had the fantastic opportunity of going to my grandmother's house and mowing her lawn for her. My grandmother lives on quite a few acres of wooded land which has been mostly cleared and still has a few stumps and quite a lot of trees. My sister and I each got on a riding lawn mower, full speed, and spent the entire day mowing only about half of the acreage. Turns out, it's slow going when you have to look out for holes where trees used to be and turning in and out of the ones that are still there and zig-zagging around giant limbs which were never picked up and eventually disappeared in the overgrown grass. Some of them you just couldn't see until "thump-clank-twang-oopsy".
And maybe I shouldn't admit it, but I stalled a few times in the high grass because I didn't know what a choke was or that I had mine too low or something. Dad and Poppa David came to my rescue with the pickup truck more than once.
Did I mention triple-digits in the Louisiana Summer Sun? My bottle of water very quickly became too hot to drink.
And the drought? Hello, dust! I was kickin it up like I was plowing the desert! The dust was so thick on me you could draw pictures on my arms. I had to hose off twice just to come clean enough to walk through the house to the shower. I was apparently still quite the sight to see. My family was laughing at me and snapping pictures left and right (remember - this was AFTER I had stood under the water hose for about five minutes!). I realized why, when I looked at myself in the mirror. I didn't hose off my hair, which was completely dirt-colored, and the water didn't actually rinse the dust off. It just made it look more like mud. Streaked down my face, neck, and arms.
Luckily, I do NOT have any of those pictures, and thankfully, I have not seen any of them pop up on Facebook. I have my suspicions that they are being held for future blackmail opportunities (I am scrambling to think of ways to earn enough money to buy back those photos - any suggestions?).
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That was probably the best way I've spent a Saturday in a LONG TIME!
Three days later, however, I received proof of what I had suspected at the time I was mowing. One portion of my grandmother's land has a smallish patch of what appeared to my inexperienced eye to be the dreaded poison ivy. And I mowed it. I winced as I ran over the leaves, but continued along my way for several reasons: 1) it was just too late to turn by the time I realized what it was; 2) I had never actually seen poison ivy and was only going on assumption based on other people's descriptions of the leaves; 3) at least Poppa David wouldn't be the one to mow it.
Let's just say it was an interesting, itchy two weeks.
But the really crazy thing?
The heat, the sun, the drought and dust (although maybe not the poison ivy) - LOVE IT!!!
The peaceful roar of the motor drowning out all sounds outside of my head. The intense heat searing the back of my neck. Children sitting on the porch eating ice cream out of a cone as it melted, dripping down their little arms. Women pulling weeds out of flower beds, men fighting with the weed wackers. The solitude in the middle of the most amazing, loving family on Earth. Being useful.
I probably wouldn't love it if my skin were a little bit whiter and I burned in the sun like my husband does. I probably wouldn't love it if I were incredibly allergic to poison ivy the way some people apparently are. I probably wouldn't love it if I had to mow that lawn every week instead of having a landlord who does it for me. I probably wouldn't love it if I were using a push-mower instead of a riding one. And I know I wouldn't love it if I were in my '80s.
But for now, I can't wait to get back up on that mower and go another round!
Does anyone have a lawn that needs mowing?? Poison Ivy Optional.
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