“To Every Thing There is a Season”

by G. E. Shuman

           

            You are probably already aware of this, but the title above is the first six words of the Bible verse, Ecclesiastes 3:1-“To every thing there is a season, and a time for every purpose under the heaven.”        It is also the first seven words of the song Turn! Turn! Turn! by the group The Byrds, written somewhat later than The Bible was, and released in 1965.

            As a teacher, it is almost impossible to not be keenly aware of the seasons; of the year, and of life.  Only moments ago, I was chatting with a high school student of mine as he manned the register of a local supermarket. He and I both were somewhat lamenting the fact that another school year was about to begin… again. “The summer went by so fast!” he said as he checked my groceries. (And I used to think that feeling was something only old guys like me had.) 

            Indeed, the summer has passed quickly, and here we are in September, already.  I do have great memories of some of the miracles of just being alive this summer, simply from the wonderful times I have had with my family. Since the beginning of summer, I have, several times, held my first great grandchild in my arms, and have talked to her about how beautiful she is and what a great family she has. (We will have many more such chats in the future.)  I have also spent time with all of my twelve grandchildren, including our barely one-year old granddaughter, and have watched them celebrate so much, from birthdays to junior high and high school graduations; from first steps, to their first days of college life.  Indeed, I have been truly blessed in this life.  Turn, turn, turn.

            Last week, at this writing, my 93-year-old mom visited us, and she also got to hold our new great granddaughter and have five, count ‘em, FIVE generation pictures taken. Wow!  She, and most of our family, also spent a day at Hampton Beach with us, and I watched her, barefooted, walking among the waves on the shore, with our kids and grandkids, and enjoying the feeling of the surf and sand, every bit as much as they.  “a time for every purpose under the heaven.”

            Very recently, also, my wife and I celebrated our anniversary. We have now marked 45 years of that wonderful woman putting up with me.  (Talk about miracles.)  Today, just before I went to the store and chatted with that student of mine, Lorna and I returned from a day trip to the White Mountains of New Hampshire in my 1970 VW Beetle, where we had a celebratory picnic at the base of Cannon Mountain.  Truthfully, there’s something about a slow ride, in an antique car, to a beautiful place with your best friend of many years that is just absolutely sublime. (Don’t forget George’s golden rule. For a happy life, every couple MUST own a wicker picnic basket, and use it at least once a summer.)

            I think that a lesson this old teacher has learned this summer is something my mom taught me a few years ago. During one of our visits she mentioned that she felt that age wasn’t a big deal, and that she has never been upset about whatever age she is. She told me that she knows life here doesn’t go on forever, and then she said: “and that’s okay.” Mom, I totally agree, and wish you a happy fall.  “To every thing there is a season,”  Turn, Turn, Turn.

           

            

The Lawnmower

By G. E. Shuman

                I know I’ve mentioned in the past that I don’t particularly like mowing my lawn.  I don’t particularly like snow blowing more, but mowing is not something I ever look forward to.  You may love mowing grass, and if so I’m happy for you. I do it, but I would just rather not.

                About a week ago I bought a new mower, on sale, at ‘Stuffmart’. I decided that I had tortured my dozen year old little mower enough, on our hill and tall grass, and decided to put it out to pasture, if you get the pun. Ha.                                              

                My wife has a dachshund, and it’s a miniature dachshund, at that. I usually determine when it is time to cut the grass when I put her out for her morning pee. (I mean the dachshund, not my wife.)  My theory is that If I can still see the dog in the grass on the side lawn then I can safely let it grow for a few more days. (The grass, not the dachshund. That dog never grows.)

                Anyway, I bought my new cut-rate grass cutter from my favorite big box store, and brought it home in a big box that just fit in the back of the car.  Truthfully, I had a bit of trouble getting the thing out of the box. First of all, it’s hard to unbox something when you can’t find your trusty box cutter. I couldn’t find my trusty box cutter. ‘Ho Hum. Oh dear… what did I do with that thing?’ I thought, as I decided to open the mower box tomorrow, or maybe the next day.

                Finally, a few days later, I did open the box and was pleasantly surprised at the relatively few pieces in the box. There was just a small bag of nuts and bolts, four wheels, (I guessed, one for each corner,) the handle, and even the mower itself.

                I succeeded in getting the mower together in a relatively short period of time, especially since I’m a real man, and real men don’t read directions. The problem was that the lawn really needed mowing by that day. (I hadn’t seen the dachshund in quite a while.) At this point my only real hope was that my new mower wouldn’t start, but I was sorely disappointed. I put oil in the brand new little motor, and then filled up the gas tank. It started on the very first pull of the rope. Dang! They just don’t make things the way they used to.

                I can’t really be complaining about mowing our little lawn, although I guess I just have been. In truth, which is something I try to avoid in these columns, your living room carpet is probably bigger than our lawn, but I’d wager that your carpet doesn’t have a hillside on one end of it. If it does, you should really have your house looked at.

                I was surprised when I began mowing that the mower was very easy to use and cut through that tall grass like, well, like a new lawnmower through grass. I don’t think I’ll dread the awful task of mowing the lawn quite so much now. I might even have to find something with shorter legs than a dachshund to measure the grass with next time, if there is such an animal.