Week 18 entry...
It's amazing how a mind-numbingly tedious chore can sometimes be transformed into a nostalgic trip into one's childhood.
My parents don't usually take long trips anywhere; my dad is always nervous about pipes freezing in the winter or storm damage in the summer, or whatever else is appropriate at any given time of the year (locust invasion, what have you). The few times they do manage to pry themselves away from the homestead, it usually falls on me and my husband to tend their place while they're gone. So in the summer, this would mean watering the flowers, checking for the weekly papers whose delivery can't be stopped, and of course, mowing the lawn so the place doesn't start to look vacant.
Now, the word 'lawn' for most people would conjure up an image of a regular front and back yard, a general bit of green to be trimmed and cut. My parents' place, though, is about seven acres, and Dad keeps fully three of it mowed throughout the summer; only Dad and God know why.
So on one of their trips a few years ago, there we are, my husband and I, dedicating a late afternoon and evening to mowing The Great Expanse. My husband was on the riding mower, taking care of the areas behind and to the side of the house, while I was tackling the front yard. I would criss-cross the yard at a diagonal until I hit the dirt road my parents live on, then reverse course until I returned to the starting point. Over and over with my little push mower, my head down for the most part to keep the straight lines thing going, only looking up when I reached the end of a 'row' to turn around and head back.
When I was down at the road for the 143rd time (or so it seemed), I saw a young kid ambling along the edge of the road. The girl was heading up towards the corner where this dirt road met another and then went aways further before finally hitting a paved road. We barely shared a glance before each of us returned to our task at hand. Mowing. Ambling.
But on the next pass I took, I found myself watching her as she poked her way along the edge of the road, her long hair in the hasty "school's out" ponytail, feet poking out of those silly two-dollar flip-flop shoes girls love. She'd stop every little bit to examine a rock, pick a flower, see how far she could throw a stone into the vacant fields along the roadside. A stick became a pencil, drawing what only she could see in the loose sand as she walked.
As I continued to head back and forth across the lawn, I realized I was watching myself in a way. This girl was me, doing just what I used to do on the very same road 30-odd years ago. The road always drew me out to it. To the left of the driveway, the road came to a halt at the cul-de-sac a half mile down. To the right, it stretched out of sight as it climbed a not insignificant hill to the north.
I almost always turned right.
Some days I skipped out into the world on my own two feet, other times venturing out on my trusty red bike with the silly banana seat, a flowered basket in front and those colored plastic spoke covers in the wheels. I didn't have any siblings close to my age, my brothers both being several years older than me, so I was almost always by myself during the summer months. My friends from school all lived in town, and my parents weren't really inclined to drive their kids all over for entertainment.
"What do you need to go to town for?" Mom would say. "You've got plenty to do right here."
And she was right. I built hideouts out in the fields along the road, the grass so tall around me it was nearly over my head. I caught leeches down in the lake with a stick, examining their slimy freakiness before flinging them back into the dark water. Whe spring came and the melting snow and spring showers would flood the land, I'd carve drainage lines in the dirt of the road and our driveway to run the water off more efficiently. (My civil engineer father was so proud.)
I'd sneak further up the roads than I was supposed to so I could visit all the horses from the neighboring properties. They were more than happy to see me, knowing I'd spend an hour or more pulling fresh clover-filled grass from my side of the fence for them, the good stuff just beyond the stretch of their glossy necks. Where the dirt road met pavement was always an exciting place, the cars zooming by at high speeds as I leaned against a fencepost and made up stories about who they all were and where each of them were going. I enjoyed waving at them as they went by; in rural Minnesota, they always waved back.
But finally, at the end of the day, I'd turn around and let the road take me back home. It always looked different in the evening than it had in the morning or afternoon. Quieter, somehow, though I didn't really understand then how it could be any different--it was the exact same road, wasn't it?
One of my favorite bits of poetry is from The Lord of the Rings, and it is about the Road itself. I was reminded of it that summer evening as I watched the girl disappear from view over the hill:
The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet,
And whither then? I cannot say.
As an adult years later, I've come to realize it's really not the same road at all, and not just at evening versus morning as I wondered back then. The road changes every time I take it; the difference lies in who will be waiting for me at the end, what other roads will connect with it, or who I will see walking along it on a quiet summer evening.
An hour or so later, as I was just finishing up with the weed trimmer down at the mailbox, the girl passed by me again on her way back home. As before, we glanced at each other for the briefest of moments, but this time, a quick, bright smile and a nod of the head was added in from each of us. On this warm summer evening, we'd made a connection without exchanging a word.
I doubt she thought much about me after our encounter, but I've thought of her often during the time since then. I'm glad she decided to take a walk up the road that day, because in a way, I got to go along with her.
This is my entry for the eighteenth week of Season 8 of therealljidol. The prompt this week was 'inspiration'. I knew I would simply be using a userpic or username as a jumping off point, and something about unmowngrass' username got me thinking about the past, and this is what emerged.
As always, thanks for reading.