Perfection

I was reminded of a song I first heard in the 1950s by Harry Belafonte, "Great Gettin' Up Morning," yesterday, because it surely was just that.  Even before barn chores, Beau and his nephew brought John Dear home.  Turns out John's problem was a dead battery (whew!); one always anticipates the worst.  Beau had put him on a charger overnight and he was running fine.  I know this because we watched Nephew tootle around in the field "just to make sure."  I'm guessing Nephew is about 11 or so and he was having a grand time until he dropped a wheel in a squirrel hole and got himself stuck.  It's not like it hasn't happened to me.  The guys took off and I went about the business of the day.

After tending to the girls I took a break, but the thought of John sitting out there alone got to me.  It's not like the yards didn't need mowing and it was sunny with a light breeze, perfection, and nothing in the house couldn't wait another day (or two).  John was raring to go, so I gave him a healthy slurp of gas and off we went.  The first mow of the season always takes longer because of the tall grass, and it took two hours just to cut down the west field.  I thought I'd get more done, but after jouncing and bouncing around, bruising my knees on the cowling and toasting in the sun, I called it quits after finishing that section; only four or five more yards to go, but it was a start.  I was pretty proud of myself for remembering what all the buttons, levers and pedals were for and John and I got along fine.

Camille came up in the afternoon with Sammi and Honey.  She hadn't planned to bring Honey, but when she started to leave, Honey said, "You're not gonna leave without me this time!" and snuck in the back of her camper shell.  The dogs played and inspected the yards while Cam and I sat on the porch to enjoy the light filtering through the new oak leaves and a truly gorgeous day.

 It doesn't get much better.