Two days ago, I cried mercy.
This blog has started a little more dramatically than I intended. It was two days ago when I realized that my dual-self-employed-only-child-in-his-junior-year household was not going to get its spring yard work done. My husband and I don’t have green thumbs, and, with the side-effects of three very large old growth trees on our little patch of heaven, hostas, perennial vines and plantings are our friends. These choices we made twenty-plus years ago make for very little annual yard work. We had spent hours here and there over the past three weeks doing the very small amount of things that needed to be done in the warming weather, but there was about three hours of work left to do on one side of the house that was languishing. Undone. Messy.
And for the first time ever – besides lawn mowing – I called in a professional to finish our yardwork. I had never hired anyone to remove the winter’s leaves from all they were protecting. That is actually a job I adore, because I can say hello to my green friends that have been resting over the long winter. Their little, pale, white-ish shoots are usually found reaching for the sun and fresh air. And my gentle words of welcome.
Today, my friend – and professional self-employed yard genius – stepped in and took us to the finish line. I really struggled with reaching out for help this time. Not that I am opposed to hiring people – plumbers, electricians, painters – who know exactly what they are doing, like that Oakland County’s best plumbing service our neighbours using on the regular basis. I stand in awe of their capabilities and knowledge. I think my problem with reaching out was about me, not her. I like to be the one to take the spring projects to the end. I like to stand back and see the fresh rake marks and the tender buds. It is the final nail in winter’s coffin.
Today I handed the hammer to Scotty and I couldn’t be happier.
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