To facilitate the time-honored summer tradition of cheesy or
trashy or mushy romance reading, I’ve prepared a love story of my own. In fact,
it’s an autobiographical tale of sultry summer love.
A synopsis for you: After
a few failed attempts at a successful relationship, our starry-eyed, rugged
outdoorsman – based on me, obviously – is reunited with a beautiful figure from
his past.
The action is steamy, even sweaty, as the rendezvous moves
from the garage to the back yard on a hot Carolina summer day. Our hunk is
overjoyed with the unsurpassed performance of the object of his affection. With
tears in his eyes (from the glare of the sun) and a lump in his throat (from
the dust and grass allergens), he quietly whispers (so no one actually hears
him),“I love you…lawnmower.”
No, that’s not some inexplicable or secret term of
endearment for his wife. Instead, it’s an uncreative name for his lawnmower.
Those of you who are familiar with my work may not be
surprised by the subject of this story, knowing I have had a curious mow-mance
with my old Craftsman push mower for some time. Plus, it sounds pretty awesome
for me to say, “familiar with my work.”
Anyway, his dark green Craftsman 6.0 push mower with a
Briggs and Stratton engine mulched grass like no other mower he had ever used,
was not self-propelled, had no bag attachment, lost its back little flap thingy
that, as far as he could tell, really served no purpose, and was approaching 20
years old. And it was perfect for him. They had been through a lot together.
There were the confusing days of mowing dirt and the occasional mesquite shoots
in West Texas. They’d also had their share of root-toppings here in South
Carolina. The incident that one summer when the backyard had gone untouched for
over a month and had grown into an Amazon rain forest was scary, but they
tackled it like unfettered explorers claiming a new world for their homeland. Then
there was the rock episode. He thought he had lost her for a moment back then.
Although he put her through abuse at times – a rain shower, mowing over pine
cones, leaving her in the old thin-walled green shed during the 3 or 4 frigid Carolina
winter days, neglecting her oil and gas treatment, she knew he loved her.
Last year, though, his darling lawnmower died a noble death
– sputtering and coughing to the biter end. After numerous unsuccessful
attempts to revive her with adjustments, filter changes, mouth-to-muffler
resuscitation (wait…no, that didn’t happen – honest), and sprays of carb &
choke cleaner, his mower was pronounced dead. He was heartbroken. He wasn’t
sure he’d ever be able to mow again. But, his wife quickly nixed his proposal
for buying goats. Somehow he knew that the grass would continue to grow, that
the sun would rise, and that he would have to keep breathing, that he must move
on.
So, this summer he put himself back out there. It was scary
because he hadn’t been in the market in quite some time. What if a mower
required him to do a tiramisu and he didn’t know what that was (you’re welcome,
Sleepless in Seattle fans)? He
refused to go the online route and check out the hot singles on
LawnscapersOnly.com. That’s just sad, people. Instead, he allowed himself to be
set up by friends and family. While he was ultimately able to produce grass
clippings on his various outings with these viable candidates and keep his lawn
somewhat respectable, this method just simply produced no long-term
relationships. One mower had a really nice set of blades – yes, two of them.
But, even though it claimed to mulch grass, it really just got clogged up and
took too long to perform the task. That’s something you really don’t want in a
mower, or a lover, come to think of it. Another was one of those fancy
zero-turn riding mowers, and while it was easy to handle and enjoyable to ride,
it proved more mower than necessary and was actually a little too heavy,
tearing up his yard at every zero turn. Again – not ideal on any front.
Our fine specimen of a mowing man - complete with ripped
abs, square jaw line, and perfectly tussled hair - tried out his father’s own
push mower, which probably explains why dear ol’ Dad dropped by, picked up his
son’s lifeless Craftsman that was gathering dust in the corner of the garage
and took it to a small engine guy he knew. Well, the fellow works on small
engines, he’s not necessarily small. Still, with little hope and a heavy heart,
this Don Juan Deere settled on taking advantage of his father’s benevolence and
continued using his mower. Days went by and he was coming to terms with the
idea that he’d never find another like his precious old green mower.
Then, he went away for a couple of weeks.
Not out of despair. He went on a family vacation to visit his
in-laws in Texas. It was a great trip.
He only thought of his mower once, when he used his
brother-in-law’s slightly newer Craftsman push mower with a Briggs and Stratton
engine. No bag, but self-propelled. It gave him fond memories of stirring up
dust and scaring away horned frogs with his sleek new mowing princess. Alas, the
memories were fleeting and he knew he would eventually return home to an empty
shed.
Upon his return, however, he received unbelievable news from
his father. Elated, he plopped on his work boots (in a very sexy, manly manner)
and sprinted…or rather jaunted…or probably slogged his way to the garage (it’s
difficult to run in those things); tore open the garage door…or, more
accurately, slowly heaved it up (it’s heavy and no longer automatic), being
sure to expose his glistening, bulging pecs and shoulders during the process;
and had to blink his eyes. Yes it was dusty in there, but he was still happy to
see his baby back where she belonged! There she was in all her worn out,
mistreated glory. He might have hugged her, although there is no proof of that.
There was a new sticker on her shell. It said, “Serviced by Randy’s.” It’s as
though she’d gone out and sowed her oats, been resurrected, gotten a tattoo,
and had now returned. The prodigal mower had come home.
He looked at her. She looked at him. They knew what was
about to happen. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and he couldn’t keep his
hands off of her. Randy had reawakened her, and although another man had
ignited the spark of mowing desire in her, the reacquainted duo’s yearning to
mow was more than either of them could bear. He rolled her gently out onto the
back lawn and with an expert stroke, cranked her right up on the first try. She’d
never had trouble getting her engine going, and this time was no different. She
purred. Not exactly the purr of the young tigress she was years ago, but more
like the experienced queen lioness, long in the tooth and seductively skillful
in her field. It was as though they had never missed a beat. Like riding a
bike. A match made in landscaping heaven. Grass was mowed, mulched, and
expelled that afternoon. Needless to say, she left him with a smile – a
pollen-and-gnat-laden smile – but a smile nonetheless.
After consummating their reunion, they cooled off. He with a
Gatorade and she with a…well, she just cooled off eventually. He rolled her back
into the garage, gave her a little pat, and told her he was glad to have her
back. She sighed and smiled. At least, that is what he thought he saw. The heat
index was 104. That may have had something to do with it. In any case, he
walked away, knowing that soon he’d return, that they’d be unable to remain
apart for long.
After all, the forecast calls for more rain and his grass is
bound to grow.
