Fresh Cut Grass

The sun was shining on the warm summer day as I rode my bike around in the yard with my little brother. The breeze picked up the scent of fallen apples from the apple orchard and the cars on the road could be heard under our laughter. It was summer and we were having a blast.

Then we heard a truck pull into the drive way and our bikes were forgotten. We looked up and saw our dad's green landscaping truck as he drove into to the entrance of the two door garage. He stepped out of the truck once it was turned off and my brother and I dash to greet our dad. He was covered from head to toe in dirt and cut grass and he had a checker print sun burn on his face from his straw hat. Even though he was probably exhausted he still grinned when he saw us, giving us each a warm bear hug that always smelled like fresh cut grass.

Mom would come out and tell Dad that he wasn't allowed in the house till he hosed off all the dirt. He'd nod and go and clean as much of the dirt off as he could before going into the house. We kids would follow him inside, chattering about how our day was, never once thinking that he might just want silence after a long exhausting day. He keep smiling, ask us questions and answering our questions and then he would go to take a shower to wash the rest of the grim off.

My dad is now a pastor, and it's not often that he has to hose off outside before coming into the house. Instead of digging into the dirt of the ground, he now digs into the grit of the bible and strives to find what is planted in it's words. Now when I hug my dad he smells like the church building or of books, still a comforting smell to me, but I'll admit it's not the smell of my childhood. Things change and people grow and sometimes, what was once familiar is now so far from the present that it's hard to reconcile the two images.

The father of my childhood was a hard working man who toiled in the ground and who sought to make little seedlings sprout into a glorious rose bush. He would take that bush and he would care for it, trimming and watering as needed. Now he is a man who seeks to help plant God's seeds and to encourage with God's works, watering and trimming if God allows. It is still the same practice, it is still the same concept, except, instead of using the watering can, in a sense, he is the watering can and God's the one who's holding him and that makes me so proud to be his daughter.

There are still those days when he works in landscaping. I love those days. I may grumble about clearing rocks and getting dirt under my finger nails (what girl truly doesn't) but I still like working alongside my dad because it reminds me of my childhood and the way things were then. I love it when he cuts grass because I absolutely love the smell of the freshly cut grass. And then when I hug him I'm reminded that even thought we both have changed through out the years and have had our ups and downs, he's still my daddy and I know in my heart that when he comes driving in I can abandon my bike, run and give him a big bear hug and even with the smell of books, he still smells like freshly cut grass.