A gift from above

I’m a child of the ‘60s and ‘70s. Looking back, I can see that our household division of labor was roughly divided by gender:

Boys did outside work; girls did inside work. (Except for hanging up clothes to dry in the back yard.)

It was clear: Mowing the lawn was a boy’s job.

Fast forward to 1987, when my husband and I moved into our house. The lawn called to me, and I became the mower.

I like the zen of it, moving slowly in long parallel lines, or sometimes squares, or rectangles, or diagonals, depending on my mood. (Yes, I know that horrifies professionals.)

It’s hot, sweaty work, especially in August, but it has its rewards.

Today brought one: Resting in the grasses up front was a beautiful, bright yellow feather. I’m guessing it’s from a goldfinch, one of my favorite — though fleeting — visitors.

Thanks for dropping by!