The cool breeze came off the bay, finding it’s way through the trees to the clearing around Mum’s house. The tide was in, and the breeze always seemed to rise with the tide. The day was chilly, not too cold really, but the breeze and the humidity seemed to conspire. My toes were cold. The grass was still wet with dew from the night before.
That was one thing about Nova Scotia. The dew is a nightly occurrence, and in far greater amounts than an Albertan might be used to. If you wanted to wash your boots, simply walk through the grass early in the morning. And on a day like this, even late in the morning.
Dew makes a good environment for slugs and mushrooms and maybe crickets too. I’m not sure about the crickets, but there are a lot of them here, and I don’t recall such bugs in such amounts in Alberta. So crickets must like moisture. Their creee-ree-ree song filled the nights during my time here. I will miss them, I think. Tonight I fly for London.
Finally the dew dried, more or less, and we were able to mow the lawn. I drove the balky ride mower around the large lawn, urging it up the small hills, and clinging to the steering wheel during the downhill plunges. About a quarter of the way through the lawn, Mum came over and showed me how to drop the mower deck to the height she wanted the grass cut at. It appeared I had not actually lowered the deck, but simply turned on the blades. I wasn’t mowing the grass, I was just scaring it.
With the deck properly lowered, the grass actually got cut, and I could see the difference much easier. Amazing how I had just gotten used to the height of the grass, as it slowly grew. Oh yeah, lawns are supposed to be shorter than fields.
Dinner was a quiet affair, both my mother and I aware of the dwindling hours. I was looking forward to the lnext step of my adventure, but was sad to leave my mumm. It has been a good month here, cleaning up the property, getting rid of the detrius of a lifetime. Once the last of the glass bottles that will sell have been sold, the major debris of my grandfather and grandmother and step grandmother gone. Only the house he built left, the house my mum grew up in. And the various knickknacks in the house, of course. But the old workshop/barn he had loved and fixed so many things in? The barn that eventually became the graveyard of so many unfinished projects, and so many poorly understood items, relegated to the racoon infested reaches of the barn….. cleaned out. We managed to fill a dumpster with the old cast offs, the mouse infested clothing, the chewed and mouldering books, the old coats and old beds and old frames…. so much of it gone.
It makes me realize how the previous generation would live, how they would gather stuff and repair things, and keeps things working. Which is all well and good, until the world moves on… or the tinkerer dies. And then all that is left is the bits and bobs, and the memories of those who loved them. That seems to be the nature of the world; nothing ever stands still.
Many of the useful things have been sold off at the garage sales we had. Hopefully they will find use again at the hands of those who still tinker, and have the inclination to use them. Hopefully they will bring delight, and become memories in a new generation.
The mower makes short work of the grass. I make short work of dinner. Now only the flight is before me. The kilometers of pavement slip by, and then I am at security. Bag off, belt off, metal not detected. One last look over my shoulder, one last wave to where Mum stands, looking for this last glimpse. We mime hugging each other, then I sweep up the stairs towards my gate.
Nothing ever stands still. The sweet, the bitter, it all passes, and I move on.
Wherever you are, Be There 