Lawn Lessons/Part Three

When I met the new husband of one long-term customer, he had a white bandage around his neck. Having lost his larynx to cancer, his words came in laborious gulps. Apparently noticing my questioning look as I strained to understand him, he said, "Don't...smoke...or you'll talk...like...this." I didn't and still don't to this day.

From the retired fire inspector and his wife, I learned that a mix of idleness and alcohol creates a deadly toxin that can dissolve a respected life into a soup of sloppy silliness.

And if you haven't heard, life's not always fair. Sometimes people will take advantage of others--a hard lesson to learn for the first time.

I once accepted a job to mow a vacant lot owned by one of my new customers. He described the size of the lot and, sight unseen, I quoted $5 for the job. When my father drove me up to the location, I realized I had been had. The lot was used for junk storage, with pieces of rusted equipment strewn all over and only partially hidden by the three-foot-tall weeds.

It was my dad who taught me that day. Keep your word. But there's no reason to be taken twice. I worked for the better part of a full day to finish. I received my $5, but quoted four times that amount to do the same job again--and only if it were done within a month's time. It wasn't surprising that I never heard from that customer again.

I look back on those as productive days. The spending money and sunshine were only part of the good I received. Each encounter left me with something new. It built my character and prepared me for life.

Now, more than three decades later, I have my own family, my own home and lawn. And, believe it or not, I still enjoy keeping a well-manicured yard. But I'm thinking seriously about hiring some young person to mow it. Instead of ridiculing the looks or behavior of the teenager down the street, why not pay for the privilege of speaking a lesson into his life?

Lawn Lessons/Part Two

Mr. Gilmore saw the past. A time when the western sun beat down on parched plains and a constant breeze spun the windmills that drew life-quenching water to the surface. A time when sod houses were the only shelters and every person who staked a claim in the West Texas wilderness was a pioneer. And when he spoke of it, he would point as if to show me the exact locations of every fence post, coyote and cowhand.

From Mr. Gilmore, I learned to appreciate those who built our country. The sacrifices they made, and the ingenuity and commitment they showed in the face of hardship, were things worth emulating in my own life.

The lessons piled up summer after summer as I plowed through yards of grass, earning a teen's wage and listening to and observing my customers.

Mr. Sims paid me $1.60 an hour--plus a hot lunch--to mow his lawn and keep his garden. He taught me that there's a certain way to do things and, if you follow what's proven, you'll reap a benefit in due season. Mr. Sims was big, and he was stern at first. But I learned that respect and even friendship can be earned if you're dependable and you follow orders--when they're given. Things, and people, are not always what they first appear to be.

When Mr. Sims passed away, I learned from the anguished eyes of his widow that a strong, kind and steadfast man will cultivate an undying love and loyalty in a woman.

Another customer was a 75-year-old widow who still worked five days a week at a local clothing shop. Mingling with people, she would say, kept her young. She taught me that attitude makes all the difference and that a smile is the quickest way to make friends. She was one of my favorite customers.

Sometimes the lessons that came were disturbing and life-altering.

(continued on Friday)

Lawn Lessons/Part One

A Reminiscence:

The contrast always filled me with a sense of relief.

After finishing the final row of the last lawn at the end of the day, I would cut power to my mower's engine and enjoy a bit of quiet.

But only for awhile. The day wasn't completely done. The grass catcher still had to be emptied, the plastic leaf bags tied and taken to the curb. And, then, there was the conversation.

It was an understood protocol. Even as a 14-year-old I knew that you didn't just ask for your pay. Not in Amarillo, Texas. Not with someone your senior. Polite conversation always came first.

With Mr. Gilmore, it was easy to begin. He was always waiting for me in the shade of his large front porch. I'd lean on the steps, raise my ball cap and push the sweat back into my hair. Then I'd look up in the sky and with a shake of my head say, "It sure is a hot one today." That's all it took.

Mr. Gilmore stared straight ahead. His eyes pushed out against thick lenses because of the thyroid condition he suffered. Though it seemed he couldn't see past the yard and into the street, his vision reached beyond what my young eyes could perceive.

(continued Wednesday)