Mowing Brings Memories

         As I sit at my desk which faces the window to my front yard, I notice the grass needs cutting. Maybe I should call Daniel. Maybe I should just get the John Deere riding mower out and do it myself. I enjoy the alone time while I'm mowing so I'll do it later, in the afternoon.

That little tractor reminds me of all the mowing I did when we were in Western New York. Doug's Dad owned five acres of land that had a tiny house and a big pond. He named it Woodpecker Hill and there was a large white sign at the road with that moniker and the name Reiner. 

Many in the Reiner family called it home over the years. Those of us missionaries lived there during furloughs. Others stayed there when they were in transition from one home to another. Nobody ever paid rent, but we were expected to pay the utilities and care for the property. 

Care of the property meant shoveling snow in winter and mowing the grass in summer. Summers were great. Winters not so much. The land sat at the top of a hill and caught the wind off Lake Erie. Lake effect snow was common and could dump feet of snow in a matter of hours.

There were winters we kept the cars at the end of the long driveway with a path shoveled out for us to walk to the house and back. I would come home from grocery shopping, take a sleeping Alex into the house and put him in his crib. Then, I would go back out and make five or six trips to bring in the groceries. 

But summers...they were glorious. The birds sang continually. Canadian geese used the pond as a stopping-over point. And the grass would grow. When I first lived on the Hill the tractor was a big old Farmall with a six-foot deck. I climbed up on that machine and felt I could see the whole world. I could cut the front and back of the property in a few hours. 

Eventually, Dad sold the tractor and bought a small Husqvarna riding mower. Its mowing deck was considerably smaller. Many times, it took two days to cut the grass. I would do the front one day and the back the next. The small tractor was more maneuverable and could get into places the big one couldn't. One thing was understood, though; if I was living in the house, I was the one doing the mowing.

Those days are long gone now. Dad passed away in 2011, Mom in 2013 and Doug in 2017. The property was sold after Mom's passing. The four siblings were established in their own homes around the world and paying for upkeep on the Hill was neither practical nor affordable. I look back with fond memories and longing. It even hurts a little.

I've driven by a couple of times on visits to Western New York. The new owners have made many changes. But the white sign is still there proudly displaying Woodpecker Hill. Yes, I think I'll get on my little John Deere mower this afternoon and remember the good days while I cut the grass.