It's All Exercise

Sitting in a lawn chair sipping sweet tea is not my thing; can’t do it if I tried.  The only time I could do that was 25 years ago when I sunbathed.  Even then, I was “doing” something.  Basically, I am not a sitter.  It’s not comfortable.  In a meeting room full of people, I move and reposition at least 3 times as much as anyone else.  No, I’m not hyperactive; don’t have nervous leg syndrome or any other syndrome.  I am just not a sitter.  My point is that I am active by choice.  My second point is, not everyone understands that.   My farmer neighbors are a good example of that.  Granted, if I owned/financed the hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of equipment that they did, I may also find myself with their opinions, but they are not seeing me.  What they are seeing is a walk-behind mower being walked behind, on an acreage.  That just does NOT fit with their image of what is acceptable, work-wise.  That’s just too much work.  I have been personally informed, face to face, that I needed a riding lawnmower.  I have heard through the grape vine that so-and-so said to tell me I need a riding lawnmower.  And just last week, whilst I was walking behind my mower, a neighbor I had not yet met, stopped by to tell me he had a riding lawnmower for sale and thought I would want to buy it.  He didn’t really see “me” when he drove up and I am not convinced he yet understood who I was when he left. 

What he said was, ”When I drove by and saw you pushing that mower, I just had to stop”.  For one thing, since this was the second neighbor in two weeks who just happened to stop by when I was mowing, I decided I needed to dress better and ditch the bandana head band.  I tried to educate this young farmer in the ways of this 50-something wanna be.  “Young man”, I said (not really) “This is my workout of choice.  This is my exercise.  I like to mow.  I look forward to mowing.  It’s what I do and it is so much better than walking on a treadmill at the YMCA.”  The YMCA part must have turned on a light switch because he agreed that what I was doing was probably cheaper than a Y membership.  I agreed that it took more time than a riding lawnmower, but I made the time for it.  I told him it was self-propelled and all I really did was walk.  And, as it just happened to be a beautiful evening, we both agreed that it was actually a perfect night for mowing.  I thanked him for stopping by and just to be polite, asked all about his mower and told him I would think about it.

I wondered, as he drove away, if he yet saw me.  I am thinking not.  I wonder if I would have mentioned that I don’t have the money to buy it, the mechanical knowledge to fix it when it broke down or the pick-up to haul it in to get it repaired, if he would have grasped that more readily.  I think not.  I bet he would have thought, like I imagine the rest of the big farming neighbors do “ Then what are you doing here?”

That’s a fair question.  I have dared asked it to myself on my worst days.  Most days I can’t really answer it rationally.  All I know is I am here and whether or not I am understood has nothing to do with my success or failure.  I will do what it takes to hold on.  I will do what I can with what I have.  I will use my experience, my gut, my stubbornness and the best pair of blinders I have to keep it together and keep going for as long as I can. 

I almost shook my head, as I started up my walk-behind mower again and waved him off.  If he only knew that this was one of the easiest of the things I do the hard way, just to make this place work.

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