It's About Time

In what now seems another life, I worked two jobs for ten years.  Some while after moving to Fair Play, I quit one; the longer commute was a killer.  Used to rushing through everything to get to the next job, I was hurriedly pruning roses when the thought struck me that I could slow down.  Pruning roses was the only job I had to do that day.  Tootling around on the little tractor yesterday in perfect weather, I thought how lucky I was to have time.  Mowing the yards is not something that can be rushed, but it was the only thing I had to do yesterday and so could enjoy the task without the pressure of more work waiting.

Time is so valuable, it is almost tangible.  It can be given, stolen, wasted.  Time can be invested or frittered away.  It cannot be hoarded or stored and it cannot be retrieved once gone.  I try very hard to enjoy the now in every day.  That was easy to do as I went in circles on a warm day with a cooling breeze.  Finished with the west field, I moved on to the side yard and then the back yard and the south side yard.  Deb and Craig were my inspiration and I didn't want my part looking shabby next to their spiffed-up areas.  I did appreciate break time in between yards; Fu Manchu can be a gut buster.

As the day wore on, I thought that mowing the drive and the frontage would be the last chore before sundown.  There were probably two inches of gas in the tank as I headed down the driveway when the engine quit.  Just quit.  Boogers.  I hiked back up to the barn for a gas can, filled the tank, and was off again.  Evidently Fu will only work on a full belly.  Coming back up for the last pass, I got too close to the drainage ditch dug by Tree Guy and dropped a front wheel, causing the back drive wheel to just spin.  Double boogers.  Wheel wedged and the tractor too heavy to lift, I tried this and that to no avail.  I was just plain stuck. With modern technology, who bothers to memorize phone numbers anymore?  That assumes all necessary numbers are stored in your phone(s).  Camille's number was not in my cell; however, unbelievable as it sounds, I remembered hers.  "Do you have time to help me out of a pickle?"  Very shortly, she drove up on her quad, Honey riding shotgun, and quickly had the tractor pulled out of the ditch.  Up at the house (whatever weeds were left can just live there), Camille asked a question only a country person would ask.  "May I borrow six cups of sugar?"  She'd run low on supplies and needed to feed her hummers.  Small price to pay for her help.

It was time to quit for the day.  The yards look great!