We’ve got almost four acres here at the Doublewide Ranch, and most of it is grass. The cows that used to live here kept the grass nicely mowed, but once the cows were gone, it was up to us. At first, we faithfully mowed all of the yard and pasture, but it didn’t take long for us to decide that, “Hey! You know, all we REALLY need are some nice paths cut through the pasture and, really, wouldn’t it be nice to let the wildflowers grow??”
Yeah, losing over half of every weekend to mowing got old quick.
And it’s not just the time it takes. It’s the heat and the bugs and the fact that both Blue Ridge Blue Collar Man and I have old injuries of various body parts that make mowing a painful process. Many of my injuries likely stem from the days when I had to lift my mama, who had ALS and was in a wheelchair. We had a Hoyer lift for home and a little slider thing for transferring her from car to wheelchair and back, but there were inevitably times when I just HAD to lift her.
Even though we cut back (no pun intended) on what we mow, we still end up having to mow a very large area. Blue Ridge Blue Collar Man takes the rider, and I use our push mower. (Benjamin is limited in what he can do because of his back fracture, but he does like to weed whack). And I’ve got to tell you, when the weather gets so hot and muggy, I dread mowing like I dread a root canal. It’s not the work I mind—it’s the pain.
And all that brings me to what I am grateful for right now—tonight—after a long day of mowing. It was particularly awful today because we actually had a bit of rain which made the grass grow up to our kneecaps. So hoisting that push mower up hills and around trees and through ditches just about killed me. So, today, I thank God for ibuprofen.
Some take it for granted, I guess because it is so easily available and cheap, but those are the very reasons I am so thankful for it. And it really, really works for me. It’s my miracle drug; it’s how I keep going, and I really don’t think I could live without it. I am so grateful for ibuprofen.