The Lawn

The lawn was a big friggin deal to the previous owners. Not so to the engineer and the writer (yeah, today I'm a writer). The engineer and the writer would rather tinker and philosophize, drink wine and discuss the tribulations of ice-road truckers, fret over the fate of Formula 1, and basically worship Mike Rowe (well, one of us worships; one just thinks he's dirty a lot). My point, people, is that we inherited a garden and a lawn and we were not prequalified for, and not up to, the responsibility

We don't have time to discuss the "garden."

The lawn, however...

First, we have have a riding mower. It's a small and ancient thing, liberated from The Barn, which is where broken down, rusted out, ready-for-the-dump-but-someone-can't-let-go hunks of junk go to hang out. I am positive that both of the owners (my not-father-in-law and his charismatic friend, Ed) firmly believe that everything in there not only can, but will, be fixed. And that it's worth the time to do it. It won't. And it's not.

The Barn ins't all bad. After all, it minimizes the crap in my garage (and for that matter the garages of many of our friends and family). And, given how things get lost in there, it's possible to find forgotten things. And liberate them. That's how we got the mower. Ed's lawn mower.

And Ed didn't know until a rather embarrassing moment when Jamie was about to thank him for letting us use it and his father quickly intervened and said he had to actually TELL Ed first.... Ed was fine with it. Ed's wife was thrilled ("One less thing for my children to have to haul away..")

I mow the lawn. I mow the lawn because it's a riding mower, which can be fun, and because mowing a lawn seems like something that doesn't require much accuracy. And I've convinced myself it's "exercise," based on all of the ginormous butts I've seen bubbling over the seats of John Deeres.

After a summer and a half of mowing the lawn, I've recently been educated about a few things.

A lawn mower is not a chipper. Though there may be some mowers that have this capability, ours does not. Therefore, I should not be intentionally riding over twigs, sticks, or rocks thinking I'll create mulch.

Taking your foot off of the right pedal means you have disengaged the blade. The blade engagement is somewhat critical to actually mowing the lawn. Otherwise, you're just riding a four-wheeler. Slowly. Over dog poop.

It's probably expected that you might miscalculate the speed and angle of the mower once or twice and slightly hit the fence. However, it's probably an indication of brain damage if you crash the mower into the fence more than twice and get the wheel stuck under the fence/deck/shed more than once.

Driving at about 3 miles an hour, it really should be possible to avoid giant holes the dog has dug.

You are not supposed to mow the tree trunks.

At a 15% grade, I have been assured that I really will not roll the mower and probably do not need to massively lean in the opposite direction to ensure all four wheels stay on the ground.

I'm not supposed to mow the bushes which is apparently what happens if you mow too close.

I'm also not supposed to mow the dog toys.

Or the slate walkway.

That said and despite my clearly questionable mowing "ability," Jamie is still happy to let me do all of this rather than actually mow it himself. Though, soon The Barn might get its mower back...