I’m making my third and hopefully final trip to the basement with my Carhartts, stocking cap and winter gloves. Maybe they’ll stay down there this time, since I’ve been trying to store them away since the first of March, when it was 60 degrees.


Just two weeks ago, I mowed on Friday evening, dressed like an Eskimo, and by Sunday afternoon I finished the job in shorts and a T-shirt. Why would you want to live anywhere else when you can experience all four seasons in just one weekend? Besides, being all spread out like we are has proven to be a great deterrent from the germ we’re all trying to avoid.


The job of helping to run two businesses keeps me plenty busy, although the flexibility allows me time to work on outdoor chores as well. There’s only one thing that is troubling and only happens when I pass by a mirror.


Since I don’t have the daily interaction with co-workers, or the public, the usual routine of fixing my hair and putting on makeup has been replaced with donning a ponytail, jean shorts and T-shirt. I’ve cut my fingernails so I can dig in the dirt more easily, and the pedicures have ended. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I’ve turned into a full-fledged farmer while pretending to work a full-time job, and I love every minute of it.


When I was little, mom laughed when I said I wanted to be a farmer when I grew up. Maybe she knew something I didn’t. The best thing about turning 60 is you can finally evolve into who you want to be, as the time has now passed being concerned with fashion – it’s all about comfort.


I see my daughters cringe when I wear headbands and bandanas and think it’s crazy how much I wear my bib overalls, but it’s a wonderful thing when you finally feel comfortable in your own skin and in clothing that makes you happy. Besides, the chance to embarrass your kids never gets old.


Maybe he’s just being polite, but when I come in with dirt smudges from head to toe, he says I’ve never looked better. There’s something to be said about complimenting a woman who knows darn well she doesn’t look her best. Flattery goes a long way, especially when you’re so far over the hill there’s no amount of back-pedaling to turn back time. Sometimes our entire conversations are based on what aches and pains we have and who is the most tired.


I had all intentions of surprising him by getting spruced up, throwing on some makeup and looking presentable just to go no further than the front room, when he asked if I was up for an evening of fishing.


Thank goodness he prefers my fishing boots to high heels, as I’ll choose a rod and reel over a curling iron any day.


Sandy Turner lives in Independence, Missouri. Email her at sandydownhome@hotmail.com