The heat had let up so I decided this was the day to catch up on yardwork. That meant collecting the equipment—edger, trimmer, mower, blower, and supplies—garbage bags, battery chargers, water bottle, air pods, phone, sunscreen, visor. Oh, and the pooper scooper for tortoise poo.  It’s a whole process, yardwork. I usually set aside several hours for this, and at the end of the day, the sense of accomplishment earns me a nice cold beer while I sit on the patio, breathing in the scent of fresh-cut grass and admiring the fruits of my labor. 

While mowing, I remembered everything Dad taught me—complete a straight path, turn around and overlap that swath when starting the next. Continue the pattern from start to finish. This is a nostalgic experience as I hear tunes from my youth playing through air pods, classic rock from the 70’s with some of my favorite artists—Linda, Carole, Carly. James, Neil, and Jackson. But on this day, something fresh popped up on the playlist, “Me and Bobby McGee,” one of Dad’s favorites. He sang it at most every family get-together while strumming his guitar and grinning ear-to-ear.

This rendition was performed by the late, great Janis Joplin. I sang along, and because it played through my air pods, no doubt my neighbors could hear my lone voice singing a cappella, but it didn’t matter. I was in my groove. Feeling a little wistful, I wanted to cry, thinking Dad might have sent me a message. “The lawn is looking great Les; you’re doing everything right.” But I didn’t cry…until the next song played.

This time, it was “Me and Bobby McGee” performed by The Highwaymen—Willie, Waylon, Johnny, and Kris, all of Dad’s favorites. Now the tears poured. Dad sent this version in case I missed the last. I felt his presence. 

Thinking this experience might be story-worthy, I held it in the back of my mind. Two weeks passed. The weather was perfect. Again, I set out to work on the backyard—same routine, different playlist. After a few swaths, “Me and Bobby McGee” started to play. I didn’t know Gordon Lightfoot recorded this song. It seems several artists were driven to it. Besides all those mentioned, others included Roger Miller, Jerry Lee Lewis, and Charley Pride. Some, not as famous, paid homage to the song—Sheyna Gee—and of course, Jack White (my dad). 

Again, I thought, Dad is here to supervise, or just to keep me company, and I smiled. I sang along. But I didn’t cry. Not until the very next song popped up, “Me and Bobby McGee” performed by his favorites, The Highwaymen. My tears flowed, and I couldn’t hold back sobs. This time, without a doubt, my neighbors (if they were outside) wondered what was wrong. This is becoming a pattern. They must be thinking, the lady next door mows, sings a capella, and weeps. Yet nobody looks over the fence to check on me. I’d rather they didn’t. Because in that moment, I want to be alone with Dad, just mowing along, swath by swath, and singing his favorite song.