Labor of Love

My husband loves to be outside this nice weather working in the back yard. Every spare moment is spent out there, raking, hammering, sawing or just staring into space dreaming up his next project. I admit I get a little impatient on his days off when he only comes in for meals, or when he stays out there all morning on work days until it is time for his afternoon job. But I can’t get too upset when I see how happy it makes him, and how well he sleeps at night after such vigorous exercise.

Howard has been dragging home various miscellaneous boards he buys at the Habitat for Humanity surplus store. (His newly-acquired F-150 truck comes in handy for this.) He did a great job doing some repair work on the back of the garage, but the back yard never held much appeal to me. I prefer the view from the swing on our screened front porch. But today after he went to work as I stood at the kitchen sink doing our lunch dishes, I peered out the window at the yard. It was charming!

The newly-raked yard was showing green from the overnight moisture, dappled in sun and shadow by the emerging young leaves from the elm branches overhead. Howard had finished constructing an attractive yard bench and had set it between our little garden statue, Boy with a Jug, (which had reminded me so much of our four-year-old son when we bought it over 30 years ago) and a large bird bath with a gracefully swirled base and fluted bowl that he bought at a yard sale last week.

He had placed our fifties-style metal yard chairs before the little matching table and positioned a cushioned lawn glider chair and its mate in a cozy conversational grouping around it. The picnic table, swept clean of leafing residue, was nearby. Excess lumber had been stacked neatly behind a white picket fence enclosure, built last year in a burst of creativity, in one corner of the yard behind the garage. I was impressed! It looked positively inviting!

I had to go outside and sit a few minutes among the singing birds flitting through tree branches, attracted by the birdfeeders and dropping down to sip from the birdbath. I was able to identify a distinctive birdsong as coming from the brilliant red cardinal high overhead, his beak opening and his little body jutting forward with each trill. I had to hand it to my husband. He had created a veritable work of art.

Ever since Adam tended his garden, it’s been inherent in man to tame his environment and bring order to his little bit of creation. I joined my husband in his little Eden after supper, where we shared the binoculars and a new pastime of bird watching. After all, love isn’t just looking at each other, it’s looking in the same direction.