It occurred to me, halfway into my mowing activities, that this situation was perfect for an iPod and some really loud music. Alas, it was me, the roaring lawnmower, a summer breeze and my thoughts. I started off cursing the suburbs where people treat lawn care like it’s the Best Hobby Ever or maybe a contest that needs winning. We’ve gone from redeeming an old lawn that a curmudgeonly owner completely wrecked with RV motor oil to being what we lovingly refer to as The Squatleys—you know, that family on your block that never mows their lawn and leaves crap out all the time.

I suppose now is as good a time as any to issue a public apology. To my husband. Here goes:

Jeremy Tredway, I apologize for ever looking seriously at acreages and imagining we’d move into one. I know, more than once, you asked who would mow the acres of property and I, more than once, spritely suggested YOU. I was foolish. Forgive me.

We have a nice-sized lawn now, but it is in no way incredibly large. And it’s certainly not an acreage. We back up to a commons and a city bike path—and apparently we and our neighbors mow part of the commons ourself. Isn’t that sweet? It seems like a nice thing to do until you get a little hot and have green grass clippings stuck between your toes and sweat is starting to drip in some very uncomfortable places. As I started to judge my suburban neighbors a little less and started to get a bit cranky and still was listening to the loud mower engine and no lively tunes, I asked myself, what in the world was my problem? Is this job too hard? No. I am too tired to do it? No. Is it the endless lines of back and forth without any creative loops around garden patches to break up the monotony? Yes. Problem solved. Apparently lawn-mowing is not my calling.

But I love being outside. I love the hot sun on my shoulders and the intimacy that comes with spending time in every nook and cranny of my yard. Dreams for future gardens start to emerge. Plans to mess up this beautiful but park-like space take root. I get excited for the point when we’ll make our mark in the suburbs. So hooray for the monotony of mowing and yay for the chance to let thoughts swirl away from the lure of digital clutter. I have strong (enough) arms for pushing a lawnmower and healthy legs and feet for walking. We are owners of a small piece of land and we live in a beautiful part of a lovely city. This is enough for today.

I can celebrate life, even while wiping sweat from my brow. Or perhaps, especially while wiping sweat from my brow.