Signed My Life Away, or, The Lawn Chronicles; part 1

So it happened.
It really happened.

After a few hiccups:
One lender requiring $18K in improvements before funding a loan
A looming (read: basically immediate) foreclosure
Multiple extensions
New lenders
Bankruptcy courts
and blah, blah, blah

I own a house. The same one I vented about in fact. It has a lot of potential. Remind me of that, will you, when I get discouraged over all the work it's going to be? Thanks.

You may recall my less-than-desirable lawnmowing experience from adolescent years, but had I really conveyed the heart of how disheartening that was? Likely not. The silly lawn left me petrified beyond belief. The irrational fears of years ago that a lawnmower may roll over my foot were not helped in 1995 during my Red Cross first aid certification where we were made to look at photos of just that experience. I have been terrified, nay, scarred for life where lawnmowers are concerned.

The only way to go as far as I'm concerned is the simple, classic Americana, mowing classic reel push mower. No batteries, no gasoline spills, no 34,783 lb. mennacing machine to march around. That has been my plan for years. They are neat, they work, and they make me feel empowered even if I am too wimpy to push a regular mower.

Now, my new abode has sat unattended for a few weeks in anticipation of closing date numero uno, and I really think the yard has sat ignored for longer than that. The corn {er, grass} was as high as an elephants eye, if you get my meaning. We are headed on a fantasy vacation this weekend and since I didn't want to come home and not know where the home WAS, it was time to tame the amazon.

No before pic, but the left shows the untamed wilderness, the center the pseudo tamed wilderness, and the right shows wilderness that has been beaten into submission; almost.

I weed-whacked and yes, even mowed (!) my lawn until my arms could not stand it anymore. Seriously, those weed whacker thingys? I didn't know I HAD muscles like that in my forearms and now they are ready to leave me forever just to end the agony. Ouch. But a patient, and extremely selfless friend (we'll call him P) spent the entire afternoon laboring on my behalf. Not only that, but he taught me how to mow a stinking lawn without leaving stripes where there ought not be stripes. Thanks P. I'm a more competent woman now. Even if you did feel very uncomfortable watching from the sidelines while a "girl is mowing the lawn." (Awwww...)

One pass done and it's starting to look like I can live here. Getting through the silly yard really makes me feel like this whole thing is possible. Like I can take this fixer-upper of a house and work and sweat and labor to build a beautiful home for us. Like I can conquor my irrational fears and come out stronger for it. Is that a bit deep to learn from a lawnmower?

Also, see those fields back there? This afternoon a family of deer was sitting peacefully among the middle of the alfalfa in the glowing sun just resting. Living next to agriculture has it's perks. This is gonna be a great adventure.