One of my fondest childhood memories is of driving my grandpa’s Craftsman riding lawnmower with the mowing blades up, over their verdant acreage in Meadville, Pennsylvania. While Grandma and the aunts prepared a feast inside, free of distractions, Grandpa monitored from the shade as all the grandchildren took their turns pretending to mow around trees, raspberry bushes and lawn furniture. Relishing the freedom and daring of piloting a powerful motorized vehicle, we were secretly thrilled with the knowledge that we were way too young to have drivers’ licenses.
Years later, with children of my own, I had moved to the west coast. Grandpa had passed away and Grandma was in her 90‘s and still living in the home of my memories. My dad had been alternating monthly visits to care for Grandma, but a mis-step on the library stairs and a bruising tumble left Dad with not one, but two broken arms in two blue casts and in need of help himself. Because I could go, I did, not only to help out, but also to try and connect some dots between my childhood memories and life as an adult.
So, how could I help?
“Well, the grass needs to be mowed.” Grandma said.
Would I mow the lawn? Could I? With the blades down, cutting the grass and everything? Yes!
I grew up in a fairly traditional home, the boys worked outside the house and the girls worked inside, so although I had an interest in plants and landscaping I had limited experience with actual yard work. When Dad proclaimed the grass dry enough to cut and opened the garage door, the long forgotten scent of musty machinery and garden supplements welcomed me to the inner sanctum of a man’s life. Honored to learn the mysteries of checking the oil and filling the gas tank, I pushed the riding lawnmower of my childhood out into the sunlight. Not as big as I remembered, still the memories held sway and I felt the privilege of being asked to actually cut the grass. Besides, how hard could it be? I drove it as a child.
My instructions were…“Mow in a straight line and get as close as you can to the bushes so you won’t have to go back with a push mower.” With some direction on blade height (which I forgot when I got to the back 40), clutch (that’s the one that makes you go or stop), gears (I forgot that one also, but use 3 or 4) and I was all ready to go. Like a bull rider bucking out of the gate, I let go of the clutch and my body and mower jerked forward while my head struggled to catch up – Yahoo!
First, the front yard, back and forth. For a while Dad was walking along beside me, coaching me in the fine art… “Lean way to the side so you can get really close to the bushes.” So I leaned. He didn’t happen to mention how to avoid getting whacked in the face while trying to hang onto the steering wheel to cut a tight circle around the shrubbery. After the edge I went fairly straight. Except when there was a tree, in which case I had to go around it, maybe more than once, to get all the grass. So it was straight, circle around the tree, straight then turn the corner, get really close to the shrubbery, lean, turn, circle, move the branch with the other hand, duck, keep turning, watch out for those flowers, and try not to laugh too loud.
Dad motioned for me to stop, “I try to go back and forth so the grass clippings don’t blow into the road” he mentioned. That sounded a good idea. O.K. so I started again, getting close to the tree. Aahh! Too close! Don’t cut into the tree trunk with the blade cover! Oh, so that’s when reverse comes into use. I tried again. Dad was monitoring from the front porch and I could feel the restraint of his involuntary driving reflexes.
When my firstborn was about 1 1/2 years old his hair had finally grown long enough to need a trim, which I assumed wouldn’t be too difficult as I brought out my newly purchased clippers. Unfortunately, baby fine hair doesn’t cooperate well with being clipped and after a shag, a mullet, a not-so-flat-top and a mohawk, ultimately he ended up with his first buzz cut. Why was this memory coming back to me now? Well, the secret to mowing lawns is to not leave any ‘mow-hawk’ strips between your swaths. But what happens if you do? You need to turn around and re-mow. So how do you turn around? In a circle? In a figure eight? Go back and come the other way? All viable options in my mind. When I had finished the front lawn Dad walked over and said “You mow the craziest I’ve ever seen!” Oh yeah, I forgot the ‘go straight’ part.
Fortunately I had another chance in the back yard. This time Dad stated, “I go in a diagonal line across the middle and then either go back and forth through the middle or around the edges.” At least that’s what I thought I heard him say. But then he added “You mow however you want honey,” and he pulled out a lawn chair and sat down to rest his two casts in the shade, or to make sure I didn’t blow up the mower. I crossed the lawn diagonally, to get to the other side right? Then I started around the edges. Lean, steer, clear the branches, duck, maybe side saddle would work? Nope. Unhook shoelace from the gear lever, lean, pull leaves out of shirt, pull flower petals out of back of pants, steer, run over branches or Uh-Oh! Was that a tree? Must stop laughing!
| Mom couldn’t even capture the whole backyard in one photo. |
I finally made it all around the edge, Whew! Dad brought out a cold drink of water and I took a break. Over the growl of the engine, I heard him say, “You’re doing fine honey.” And I was off again, making sure to leave no mow-hawks, remembering to blow to the inside so I could re-mow the clippings. Right? Or was I supposed to blow to the outside into the place I just mowed? Around and around I went, but what happened to straight? It was looking more like a squished gummy bear pattern. And what was the diagonal for again? I still haven’t figured that out.
| Me on the trusty mower and Dad relaxing in the shade. |
Finally I was down to the last strip of grass, or wavy swath as it turned out, and then I was done. As I drove into the garage and turned off the motor, saddle sore and weary, I gained a new appreciation for my Grandpa, my Dad, and those riding mowers that let you stand. Then I walked back to survey my work. Now I know why Grandpa never let us put the blades down.
It’s a good thing that both hair and grass keep growing, maybe I’ll be given another chance next time to get it straight.
