A Seasonal Muddle in the Mowing

Mowing snow.
It was a first for me.

After our late summer drought was succeeded by continuing early autumn dryness, heavy rains in recent weeks have reenergized the lawn.  Months of scant tractor use gave way to weekly passes over shaggy grasses waving in the fall winds.  This at a time when I have begun to give thought to the onerous task of switching out the mowing deck to the snow blower in preparation for winter.  The Farmer's Almanac, after all, warns me that I'm going to need it. 

But not before one last mowing.

More rains delayed the trimming.  Busy schedules complicated the matter, and of course the time change a couple of weeks ago abbreviated the number of available evening hours.  And then the first snow of the season descended on Monday.  And temperatures in the low teens.  It didn't feel like mowing weather.

Yesterday, however, there was a clearing in the sky and my schedule, and the mercury was sniffing at the 50's.  I changed into work clothes augmented with some extra warmth, and raised the door on the barn.  Leaves had carpeted much of the open space and my mind drifted to mulch as I raced to beat the darkness.  Finishing the front, I steered to the back and the garden surroundings and waded into the curious obstacle protected by the shade of the house.  Accumulated snow.  Unsure of the protocols for such a work, I pushed on through -- blades trimming blades, mulching leaves, and blowing snow all in a single pass.  Summer, autumn and winter confused or conspiring -- all three swirled into a seasonal compost of white stained with reds and greens.

Despite the way that history books date the endings and beginnings of epochal shifts, I suspect that my season-blurring experience in the yard is more representative.
The line between adolescence and adulthood.
The line between student and teacher.
the line between apprenticeship and mastery.
The line between vocation and retirement.
The line between autonomy and community.
The line between life and death.
Ambiguously blurred; inching forward while subtly retreating.  Muddling from one into the other.

Green grass and fallen leaves and snow, all mowed together.

And then today, with any luck, I'll plant garlic.