My Dad spent a lot of time in the yard. Pushing the lawnmower. Raking leaves. Trimming the forsythia bushes. I want to say I pondered him doing that and wondered what he thought about spending all those hours out there, but maybe that is more hindsight memory.
But he definitely found his own rewards from taking care of our suburban Baltimore yard. Hours and hours of it. He upped his gear after I had moved to Arizona in 1987, getting this riding mower, and a small shed to park it in. The photo above was one I took on a later visit home.
When Dad retired, got his own computer, and took up email, I smile thinking of his choice of identity- lawnman12373@****.com
I think of him, today, all his hours spend alone working in the yard. I think of him today, as I spend my own hours alone in my own yard, trimming shrubs, moving rocks, transplanting trees, watering the garden.
I have no lawn, but all these decades later, I know exactly why he spent all those hours working in the yard.
I work my own yard, without him, yet with him in mind. I try to grow apples and strawberries, he had his pineapple (groomed from a cut top of a store bought one).
I get you, Lawnman. I get you, I get you, I don’t forget you.
Top / Featured Image: That’s my photo of my Dad probably taken in 1988 or so. He got that riding mower after I had moved out to Arizona, and I bet this was taken on a return visit when I was doing photography with a darkroom rigged in my bathroom. This scanned copy is my flickr photo https://flickr.com/photos/cogdog/6130715007 shared under a Creative Commons (BY) license