(A) I've been cutting grass since I was eleven
(B) it's a flat yard for the most part, only a very slight incline in the back and
(C) the mower has an automatic shut-off when you release the pushbar and
(D) unlike my buddy, Don, who recently carved chunks from parts of two fingers reaching under a mower deck- He swears it wasn't running but I've never known a machine to rend flesh when it's not under power! -I never, but never put any part of myself under the mower. I likes my fingers too much and while my feet and toes give me fits of late I'm still partial to keeping them.
But I digress. So the mower is shredding pine cones right and left which are littering the ground, fallen from the row of coniferous boughs that reach above the tippy-top of the fence which borders the property. And it's a windy day, really blowing. I'd put out the trash can and picked it up at least three times in the course of the morning, bowled over by the gusty breeze, before finally wising up and putting it out of the wind instead of in its usual spot. But the trees apparently tried to revenge themselves by whipping a pine cone on the wind, missed me by that much... freaky.
I thought to myself, 'Wow. That could put a real hurt on if it nicked the side of one's noggin!'
The point is, I think often while mowing, 'A few goats and I wouldn't have to do this at all.' But we used to have goats when I lived at home. Mandy and Andy. I don't think we ever milked them, at least I never did. I guess they were the kind of goats who didn't put up with such nonsense. And they really didn't substitute for the lawn mower. They mostly just milled about the little area next to the garage where they were tethered and waited to be fed and have their heads scratched between their ears. They loved that. I sure can't remember what we fed them either. I'm sure, given the reputation of the species, they got leftovers and scraps from the table and the trash.
Here's a picture of my pal, Jimmy, making like he's riding one of them. Which is patently ridiculous due to his size compared to that of the goat. Which, of course, is why we posed the picture that way. He's wearing those big gray overalls so I'm sure it was taken when we were building my folks' log house just down the lane from the place where we kept the goats, right in the front yard, really. Whatta job that was, it's no small wonder that nobody got seriously injured putting up those beams. Straddling the unsecured walls while handing those monster chunks of wood over one's head, yow. I could never do it now and marvel that I did it then, my acrophobia was no less acute at that age than it is now.Happily, lawn mowing doesn't generally involve any work on high. And looking ahead to the morrow- which is 'today' now, it's late -because the forecast is for rain starting on Tuesday, I'm thinking about what may be the last turn around my Mom's big mowing job, the one holdover from the days when my Dad and I went around with truck, trailer and tractor cutting yards for the fun of it. No, seriously, we got paid for it. But it was fun, I just didn't know it then. I had yet to slog through a succession of day jobs that I disliked even more than pushing a lawn mower and swinging a weed trimmer.
But the job is two hours of meditative bumping and turning, up and down, round and round. All tractoring, no trimming or handwork at all. Around the pine trees and shrubbery, the tennis court and along the rough, turned up edges of the adjacent farm field. Over and over the bumpus where the swimming pool used to be. More than once we were invited to have a dip when the job was done back in the day. I must have taken them up on it more than once but I have no pictures as proof. It's a coupla bucks on the side but mostly it's just a good time to think, in spite of the motor noise. It's so familiar, like an old pair of shoes, kinda automatic, and you can just drift off and reminisce and ruminate while weaving in and out, back and forth.
Anyway, I'll knock it out again tomorrow, talking to myself, singing out loud in spots, waving to the postman and UPS guys making their rounds. Thinking deep thoughts and wishing the grass would grow year 'round. Maybe I'll try to stretch it to two and a half hours...
