Southern Secrets Society: The Grooming | #Suspense | RomePi™

͋ 3 ͋ Saturday, November 30, 1991 (BWWM)

SHORTER DAYS

Working for the Claytons was the easiest job of all. Early one cold crisp Saturday morning, my goal was to work as quickly as possible to finish cleaning their yard. Completion of that yard early enough would give me time to ride around in search of a few more customers before the icy winter rains and snow set in.

Even though the yard was quite big, and many different trees framed the sky, I worked until a few minutes before it got dark to complete nearly half of the project consisting of two inches of leaves packed on the cold soppy ground.

A few days before, I told myself I would knock the project out in two more days. Because I already had a system in place, it was nothing for me to guestimate when my projects were about to come to an end.

I learned early on to push myself as hard as possible so I could finish sooner. The more I did on day one, the closer I got to picking up an additional yard and making more money on another day.

As with every job, the owner and I laid out a plan for what was expected, and we agreed on how much I was to be paid.

Because their yard was caked with wet thickly packed leaves, it meant I would be required to work harder and longer to rake them, load each bag, and lug them with all my strength to the designated spot for sanitation removal.

Most people would never believe how hard it was for me to get a week's worth of work done in a few days, but I can attest to the fact that my entire body ached as a result of it. It didn't sound like a lot of work until you got out in the yard and started shoveling wet leaves into bags.

Families with children often took care of the task themselves. Those with no youngsters or able body individuals at home, eagerly welcomed my smiling face when I knocked on their door offering my services. The list of references I gathered included the names and phone numbers for my previous projects. That list turned many Noes into Yeses.

"Young lady, would you like some hot cocoa?" Mr. Clayton came outside smiling and shivering a little from the cold. He was an older man who looked to be in his late sixties possibly early seventies.

Every hour or so, his rosy red face and white-silver hair would come around the corner to check on my progress. As tired and as cold as I was, I always managed to give him a sweet smile. He was a nice man and I showed him the proper respect expected of a sixteen-year-old girl.

"Thanks for the offer Mr. Clayton, but I'm nearly done. If I shift gears and start thinking about hot cocoa, I'll soon be imagining myself sitting in front of the fireplace and all thoughts of work will slip right out of my head," I stated with conviction as he laughed at my response.

My determination was lasered in on finishing up the job and with just a few more hours of daylight left, I caught my second wind and plowed through the rest of that yard, wrapping up my work as if my life depended on it.

It hadn't escaped me that the sky began to turn an ominous depressing gray. That was always the clue hinting that snow was on the way. With that thought, I dug deep and pushed even harder to finish organizing the bags I had previously packed full of leaves.

I returned the rake along with the rest of the tools to the shed after I cleaned and edged up the yard.

Every job was like a badge of honor, so everything had to be perfect. Part of my process required that I walk the perimeter to make sure I hadn't missed anything. Being tremendously proud of what was done for my customers created a standard for others to envy.

Honestly, I believe my artistic abilities helped me to picture each yard as a painting. One question was always in my mind. What would a Norman Rockwell painting look like and how can I recreate that for each customer? The people I worked for had no idea I saw their yard as nothing less than a huge natural canvas. I was simply focused on recreating one masterpiece after another.