Man and Mower - a Special Relationship

When comparing the weather this summer between South Carolina and Texas, it’s difficult to find two more opposite stretches of time. It rained on us maybe 2 days while we spent the majority of our summer break in Southeast Texas. I think those were the same two days that it did not rain back home in Carolina. Needless to say, when thinking of all the rain we were getting at home, I was truly concerned about its repercussions. Not the flooding, ruined crops, or even squelched vacation plans, but, rather, my back yard.

Buried in my back yard is a septic tank, and covering the ground is the fastest growing patch of St. Augustine grass known to man. A coincidence? I think not. With less than average rainfall, I could mow my back yard once every 5 days. The rainfall amounts we’ve received in Carolina are biblical. Really. About a month after arriving in Texas, I received a text from Noah with the plans for a new ark to be built in my hometown of Lexington, SC.  I immediately envisioned the top of my backyard just below the gutters of my house. It was highly likely that my backyard would be the new home to species of animals typically found in South American rain forest thickets. I guess those hard-to-track-down animals are why Noah contacted me.

So, on my 16-hour drive home, I had lots of time to contemplate how to attack the jungle of grass behind my home. My lawn mower, the kind you push, was way too meager to handle a job of such magnitude. And, besides, it was in the storage shed, buried somewhere in the depths of Jurassic Lawn. Initially, I considered going the machete route, but that sounded like way too much manual labor. Plus, I’m not sure I’m handy enough to take on a panther, which I’m positive must have taken up residence there, armed with anything less than a Sherman tank. Then I thought, “Why not a Sherman tank?” No - way too much damage control afterwards and I doubt my neighbor has one anyway. As I drove along, I crossed napalm, ninja sword, the Army Corps of Engineers, a herd of giant goats and various other less-than-ideal options off my list and eventually decided on flame thrower.

We finally arrived home a little after midnight. I felt like wine. Now, I know what you’re thinking – “Sure, after a long, tiring road trip, a nice glass of vino would be nice and would certainly help with the winding down process.” But that wasn’t it at all. I actually felt like wine, as though I-20 had stomped me like a vat of grapes for hours.  I didn’t want a drink of anything. I wanted to be six years old again and have my dad gently pick me up out of my seat in the car, carry me into the house and tuck me in my bed. I couldn’t talk my wife or son into being Dad, so I crawled on my own into bed without unpacking the car and without a glance toward the backyard. I would have to search for flamethrower dealers in the morning. Maybe my father-in-law would have one. I have a tack hammer and a yard stick. He has a basement and half of a garage filled with a table saw, radial arm saw, the hand tools section from Home Depot, an honorary doctorate from the John Deere Academy, and I think I saw the keys to a Sherman Tank hanging up by the basement door.

Next morning, I peeked out my window at my back yard, much in the same way my wife peeked into the mirror after I convinced her to save money and let me highlight her hair. Admittedly, I blinked a few times. I expected to be staring straight into tall, broad blades of grass. And maybe into the grisly face of a 47-pound ladybug.  Instead, I could see trees, my neighbor’s house, even the storage shed. The grass had only grown a foot tall, a little more in some areas!

“Honey, would you mind calling your dad and telling him I won’t need that flame thrower after all?”

So with high spirits I prepared for some quality time with my lawn.

I’m one of those guys who secretly enjoy mowing the lawn. It’s therapeutic. It’s just me, my mower, and grass in need of a trim. I can be creative – think professional baseball outfield patterns. I also have deep conversations with myself, solving lots of my world’s problems and coming up with earth-shattering ideas that I never really act upon. Now, when I say conversation, I’m using the actual definition that requires a speaker, message, listener, and response. I play both roles, and do so very well. Sometimes out loud. Thankfully, my hands are busy. Otherwise, I’d be utilizing hand gestures to get a point across to myself. My neighbors already have doubts about my sanity. I imagine them all standing at their windows, admiring my lawn care skills.

“Hey, sweetie. Come take a look at Walt across the street. Man, he is a pro behind that mower. Just look at that diamond and sun rays pattern! Such grace. And he makes it look so effortless. I admire him as a man and yard artist.”

“Um, is he talking to himself?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. He does that. You know how artistic types are, sweetheart.”

“Maybe he’s a genius.”

“Maybe…”

One day for grins and giggles, I’ll mow the yard without the lawn mower – just me and myself, having a nice long talk as I walk back and forth in some strange geometrical pattern in my front yard.

Mowing the lawn is also like washing the car to me– it’s a chore I publicly abhor, but secretly adore. The finished product makes the work worthwhile. Standing back and admiring one’s handiwork is fulfilling, especially if the job has been done well. But, as opposed to the lowly bucket, hose, and cloth used when washing the car, the lawn mower is more than a necessary tool. It’s Robin, Watson, Tonto -the proverbial sidekick. I usually give it a pep talk before taking the field and congratulate it after another fine performance. Sometimes we argue about its gas drinking problem and the occasional smoking, but, all-in-all we have a solid relationship. We’ve been together for nearly 15 years. It comes from a great family – Craftsman. No fancy self-propelled, push-button, attached bag shenanigans. It’s all real 6 horse power, mulching blade goodness. Oh, and, I can turn it on with one stroke…every time.

Back to the job at hand. I was a bit worried how my lawn mower would respond when faced with grass that rose quite a few inches above its gas cap.

So, I decided to give the yard two trims – the first with the mower raised a couple of notches. I think my lawn mower actually smiled. You know how kids, and RuPaul, and Adam Sandler, like to play dress-up? Well, my mower got the chance to play a grass combine harvester…and was thrilled. Two runs over the entire backyard and a tank-full of fuel later, my mower and I enjoyed a nice cold drink while admiring our most recent conquest over the St. Augustine green, problems solved, the next big thing discovered (but ignored). I heard the faint sounds of clapping and cheering emanating from behind the closed panes of glass of the surrounding houses. We retired gratified, me to my home and the mower to its shed.

Rains came the very next day. Nice timing!

My mower and I both smile, knowing what rains bring – tall grass and quality time together.