Tumbler Ridge is known for its wind – at least to those in the wind business. The first of several wind farms is well underway and they have begun bringing in the turbines piece by long piece. The company that is behind the project hosted a wonderful event on Friday evening. One of the turbine blades was brought into town and folk were invited to sign their names along the length of it.
The local Lions ran the barbecue, there were jumping castles for the kids, and the opportunity to leave your mark on the wind project. There was a great turn-out (although in our town, we know the Lions know how to cook a mean hamburger, and free food is almost never turned down).
Perhaps I would have enjoyed the event more if I hadn’t tackled the lawn earlier. It took just over two hours to mow our jungle that had been growing since the snow finally melted for good (which was only about mid-April). With hubby working out of town for six weeks straight, and barely home for 48 hours over the Father’s Day weekend, the grass had grown as high as my waist in some places. 
I’m not the lawn mower in our family. Even growing up, my aunt and my brother coveted that chore and scarce let anyone else ever touch the machine. So before I even began my task, I had to touch base with the hubby to find out how our mower even worked. I knew it was electric, but after that, I was completely lost.
I’m sure I broke some “lawn mowing rules”, like the ones concerning straight lines. As I was going up and down the yard, I might notice a clump of particularly determined grass that hadn’t been cut, just pushed down and I would swing over with the mower and cut it, then swing back to my row and continue on my way.
By the time I picked the kids up from the sitter’s and took them over to the barbecue, I was already a little tired. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I ended up wrangling two kids for two hours outside. Abby played in the bouncing castles most of the time, but I had to chase Nathan around as he was petrified of the loud noise from the blowers that were keeping the castles inflated and refused to play in the same area as his sister. We sat down to eat briefly, or more precisely, to drink. Everyone was thirsty. Then Abby returned to the castles and I chased Nathan around some more. I finally decided to wait in line to put our mark on the turbine.
Nathan, however, decided that he didn’t like to wait in line. He amused himself by squirming around in my arms, hitting my face and chest with his fists and his head, and pulling my hair over his own head. In nearly four years of being a parent, I have never wanted to cut my hair short as badly as I did that day.
The wait really wouldn’t have been that bad if not for the fact that they had to move the scaffolding and the truck carrying the blade to give access to another part that was less covered in signatures and the like. That accounted for the vast majority of our wait.
At several points, I was close to tears, wishing I didn’t have to do this kind of thing on my own. I wished Tim could have been there to help with the kids, to give my tired arms a break, to sign his own name. There were families all around, which only seemed to point out to me the obvious absence all the more.
Finally, our turn came and Nathan and I climbed the steps with pen in hand. He squirmed and tried to reach for the pen while I signed our names. I nearly dropped him. Fortunately, I was able to cap the Sharpie once I was done and it was a great distraction while I pulled out the cell phone to snap a picture. Just as I was fumbling in my pocket for the phone, an announcement is made – would I please come to the blue tent, my daughter is there looking for me.
And it’s times like that one which make me thankful I live in a small town.
And it’s times like that one which make me rethink ever trying to do these kinds of events on my own.
