Who can tell when inspiration might strike and what may prove to be the catalyst. We just have to be ready and willing to respond when it comes calling.
A recent chance sighting of a goat was all it took to bring a memory flooding back from a much earlier time in my life.
A memory not to be denied. And so I began to nourish words and memories in my mind, and a quite unexpected poem emerged.
The One And Only Lionel
When my father astounded the whole family
And purchased a goat
It signalled the end of his lawn mowing desires.
For several years
I had dutifully fulfilled the role of lawn mower man
for the family plot.
-But now, I was moving away to study teaching
and my father made a sudden decision
to replace me with Lionel,
-as my father referred to the goat
Lionel came with certain obvious advantages
-he cost little to feed
-worked longer hours
And generated less noise.
Lionel had to be tethered, of course
To save my mother’s hydrangea and protect the fruits of the orchard
Something not necessary on my part.
Lionel was, without doubt, a relentless eating machine
He and my father became firm friends across the years.
Father greeting.
Lionel eating.
And upon my infrequent visits home,
I still continued to mow
Just to give Lionel a hand,
I suppose.
Years later,
While driving through Turkey
I passed a herd of scrawny goats
Scrounging for meagre green shoots
On a barren, rocky hillside
And I thought of the fortunate Lionel and the abundance of lush greenery
my father afforded him.
Those Turkish goats weren’t tethered, though,
-It must be said
Then again,
-not a single hydrangea as far as the eye could see.
Alan j Wright
This poem pulls the reader into your memory - I felt like I was there watching Lionel eat grass - and yet the poem gives us more than a memory. It invites us to contemplate the fact that life always has tradeoffs (being tethered in a lush lawn, or free-roaming with meager grass). Thanks for sharing this today!
ReplyDeleteAstute observation Elisabeth. Life does indeed require tradeoffs at times. Thank you for your feeback.
DeleteSo many different thoughts here. I love the greeting/eating - the relationship between your dad and Lionel. And I'm reminded of the fact that my brother left home, and my parents bought a TV. I left home and my parents bought a dishwasher. Like you and your lawnmower. And I'm loving how it loops around to those hydrangeas. And I was with Elisabeth, too, making reflecting on the mixed blessings of tethered and free.
ReplyDeleteInteresting observation on the acts leaving home precipitate Kat. I would agree totally. Glad you liked the circular ending involving the hydrangeas.
DeleteI enjoyed these goat scenes, Alan, and it reminded me of my years in Saudi Arabia playing with the street goats who loved to escape us by climbing atop the parked cars... thank you! (Also, we owned two goats for several years, thinking they'd save us from mowing. We learned it takes a HERD to actually keep a lawn mowed!)
ReplyDeleteMore goaty memories, Irene... I could not imagine my father with a herd of goats. Lionel was surprise enough. Goats are ardent climbers, as you well know from experience.
DeleteYou cleverly compare yourself to the goat in so many funny ways. It was quieter and generated less noise and many other things. That you didn't eat flowering bushes was a plus on your side. :)
ReplyDeleteStill refraining from eating flowering bushes, Janice. The comparisons between Lionel and me seemed a natural thing to do, seeing as he was my replacement. Glad you appreciated my goaty offering.
DeleteHahaha--"Something not necessary on my part." Love the wry humor here and the storytelling. (I HATED lawn mowing as a kid. It was my most hated of chores--so hot and itchy.) The regional parks here in our part of Minnesota have a herd of goats they let graze in certain areas of parks on a rotating schedule. I want to learn more about it--not sure if it's for invasive plants or just eating brush to lower fire risks, or what. I always hope to catch a glimpse of them, though :>) And, now that I think about it, no hydrangeas there, either--hahahaha!
ReplyDeleteLaura, I actually didn't mind mowing the lawn. I found it somewhat therapeutic. You saw something tangible for all that effort, and I quietly drew comfort from that. Maybe the goats of Minnesota might be deserving of your closer attention. An interesting possibility...
DeleteI have a tiny yard & still love the sound of a push mower from my younger days with one grandfather mowing. Your push into memories brought so many layers, Alan, the leaving home, replaced, by Lionel! As Laura writes above, there are herds of goats in Colorado areas that take the place of larger mowers. It's a business! I loved "no more lawn mowing desires" yet you were the one doing the mowing.
ReplyDeleteWe still had an old push mower at our last house. I recall my Dad using one as well. Such a distinctive sound. Linda, your Colorado goats may need some investigating, like Laura's Minnesota goats. I think my Dad had absolutely no wish to resume mowing, so when my life took me away to study, Lionel was his solution to the problem. He knew I was his fall back when I came home to visit.
DeleteAlan, this was a delightful poem about your past. I remember when my uncle got a seated lawnmover and my cousin had such a great time mowing the lawn as it rode around their huge yard. I suppose at one point he must have tired of the job. I am wondering if you did too. I assume Lionel did not.
ReplyDeleteA ride on mower - now that's another level Carol. I never had a place or a lawn area big enough to justify one, but it would have been fun, no doubt. I still enjoy mowing, but only do it occasionally now for my daughter at her place.
DeleteYour poem put me right in the middle of the triangular relationship between you, your dad, and ol' Lionel. Well done. :)
ReplyDeleteWhat a memory! And that ending!!
ReplyDeleteI love your story of Lionel!
ReplyDeleteAhh... is there a tiny twist of sibling rivalry woven into this memory? Love your wry humor; I hope Lionel is well!
ReplyDelete