It is too hot too soon. These past three days, the thermometer has topped over 90 degrees, forcing the flowering shrubs and trees to drop their flowers and concentrate on their summer duties of surviving and procreating. I hate the heat more and more each year. I melt down quickly but spring chores must be done.
Ken and I share homeowner tasks, which has evolved into his doing most of the indoor work and my doing most of the outdoor tasks because that is what we each like to do. Last weekend, I noticed the grass getting long in the back yard and decided it was time for the first mow of 2009.
I gassed up my little Honda mower and off I went, being careful to mow around the violets that grow at random in our pesticide-free lawn. Ken laughs at this and thinks it’s nuts for all the work it is to spin circles around each purple blossom. He doesn’t know that I am thinking about my mother’s mother as I edge around each one, my Nana who died when I was only six months old and don’t remember. Every spring my mother told me that violets were her mother’s favorite flower. I’ve heard many stories about Nana over the years, and have a few photographs, yet she remains mysterious.
I think of Nana the whole time I am mowing and decide the violets look even prettier next to random patches of golden dandelions, so I mow around them too.
The yard looks a little weird right now, but I figure she-who-does-the-mowing gets to decide when and how it’s done. The moguls of uncut grass protect the wildflowers that bond me with a woman who once loved me, and remind me that Nana and I are still connected, every spring.