For reasons that are too numerous to name, when it comes to yard work, my beloved spouse, the Carpenter, is in charge of the landscaping duties.

It’s his domain and as such he is particular, fussy and bossy. Such a Leo (I say that with love, but like, chill out dude). 

But what kind of partner would I be if I didn’t offer to help? This rural property is our home and our business. We’re in this together. Besides, I’m not a fair weather gal. I’m borderline handy. 

Okay, well, at least I’m super helpful. Did I mention keen?  Positive too. Put me in, coach.

I’m not sure if it was a sympathy-vote-of-confidence, or an “anything to make you leave me alone” chore, but the Carpenter delegated to me a task that even I couldn’t mess up: raking. (Or could I?)

I’m on day three of this task. Day three. We don’t even cut the grass and I’m still out there making mini piles, like little hay stacks. Raking affords me a dangerous amount of  time to think.

It brings to mind a university English class where we learned about the four stages of conflict in a plot: person vs. person; person vs. self; person vs. society, and person vs. nature. Raking brings about all of these conflicts. Let’s discuss.

The Carpenter gave me this task as a test. I’ll be darned if I’m quitting this exercise though. The Carpenter wants me to. I know he does. 

It’s a twisted game we play with one another. Truth or dare. Is it true you can’t handle manual labour? I dare you to try. And for reasons I’m sure a therapist would have a field day with, I’m as determined as ever to prove myself not only capable, but exceptional. Person vs. person. Kelly gets a gold star.

Raking is boring. It just is. Same thing over and over. Person vs. self. So I have to get creative. I draft stories in my mind. I psycho-anayze my life choices. I converse with the chickens, who show up to kick my grass piles about. I secretly believe they like the Carpenter more than me and he’s sent them out to disrupt my progress. He would. They would. 

Nothing bugs me more than, well, the bugs. This brings me to person vs. nature. I don’t know what those tiny bugs are that fly directly into the corners of your eyes, dart into your mouth and sometimes, wander up your nostrils, but they make raking most unpleasant. Bug spray isn’t a deterrent for these flying tyrants, it’s more of a dare. 

I spend a good deal of time slapping myself, or making frantic hand gestures to move these creatures away from my face, but that just encourages them to bite. Long sleeves, long pants, long socks in high boots, a tight hood and gloves; sexy. Suddenly, I miss January.

Person vs. society in relation to raking is easy. People are very judgy about other people’s lawns. We are oddly obsessed with grass – ours and everyone else’s. It’s all about appearances. If anyone drove up the lane and saw me flailing my arms in self-defence, they’d judge. 

The struggle is real, guys. 

Ah, but the lawn looks great. It really does. I love this place. Until Thursday when we get to do this all over again.

I wish you a happy, safe Victoria Day long weekend, everyone. 

Rake in the fun.

WriteOut of Her Mind