Mowing for Cookies

Along the edge of my place, where the grass turns scruffy and mingles with wildflowers, the snowy carpet of dainty Quaker ladies (known to botanists as bluets) is tuning up. As it is when the fat lady sings, it's just about over for those dear little bloomers.

Every Thursday, Jeff mows my lawn. This amiable young man drives his customized mower like a kid on a scooter, standing on the back running board and "pumping" with one foot when a little oomph is needed to help the rig climb a slope. A rain-or-shine kind of guy, he'll mow in a downpour. I have come to understand that the structure of the universe will tilt, and the planet will orbit in reverse, if lawn mowing doesn't happen every Thursday, without fail. Jeff is one dependable guy who wants to get the job done.

But before he begins, he has to listen to me reviewing the parameters of the no-mow zones: where the ground is too soggy, where volunteer lupines have sprung up, where the Quaker ladies live. He seems resigned to my fussiness but regularly reminds me that this is Maine, not Connecticut (not that there's anything wrong with Connecticut). He knows I write this cooking newsletter, and he always asks, "What's cooking?" I tell him he'll find out when he's finished with the lawn. What's cooking is usually cookies, whether they're on the newsletter's menu or not. I love to make cookies.  And I'm not sure of this, but I'm thinking my weekly baked offerings have had something to do with the survival of those little white wildflowers for this first month of mowing season.

When bluets fade and bend, it's time to admit time's up. The fat ladies of the field finally sang, so Jeff did what a man on a mower has to do. When he was done, I gave him three little apple pie pastries and a dozen Chocolate Crunch Cookies (the original name for Ruth Wakefield's accidental invention that came to be known as Toll House cookies). Don't go trying to tell me the seventy-five-dollar tip I give him every week is excessive. Jeff does a fine job. It's worth every cookie.

Karyl Bannister writes and illustrates the newsletter Cook & Tell, published ten times a year.