Posted tagged ‘push mowers’

“It takes a special kind of personality to enjoy watching the grass grow.”

September 9, 2017

It has been a busy morning. The first ring of the bell was two Mormons hoping to chat. I thanked them and sent them on their way. The second bell was four of the neighborhood boys. They wanted me to know a dead bird was in my little library. They had opened the door to check out the books, and the bird fell out. They also told me there was a hole in the back the woodpecker had made to get in, but obviously not to get out. I went to investigate. It had to have been recent as two weeks ago the library was just fine, no holes, no dead birds. The boys moved the bird out of sight. I went back inside and got Gorilla tape and cleaning stuff as well as a few new books. I scrubbed the inside shelves and cleaned away the bird poop and a few feathers, covered the hole from the inside and the outside with the tape then added and arranged the books. I found a Book of Mormon. I wonder how that got there?

Today is pretty. It is sunny despite wispy clouds, but the sun is only a backdrop. It gives light but little heat. The morning is cool, only 65˚, and it won’t get much warmer. It’s a good day to do errands.

I could hear the lawnmower working from house to house this morning. They did my neighbor next door, who is the landscaper, my neighbor across the street, my lawn and two more down the street. They also used the hedger and the leaf blower to finish each yard. I could tell what was going on from the sounds of the different motors.

I was reminded of my dad and all the neighborhood dads on Saturdays when the lawns were cut and the yards cleaned. They used push mowers and hand clippers. My father loved mowing his lawn and never did convert to a power mower. I gave him rechargeable clippers one year for Father’s Day, and he used them. He even liked them. That was my dad taking this first step into a modern era.

“My mom said the only reason men are alive is for lawn care and vehicle maintenance.”

July 8, 2016

I have emerged. The windows and doors are open. Today is much cooler and the AC is unnecessary. Earlier it sprinkled for a bit and the rain has left a chilly dampness. The day is dark, another leftover from the rain.

My usual quiet is disturbed as my bushes are getting trimmed. I guess my neighbor noticed I have been bending down the branches of the wild roses so I can get to my car without the thorns attacking me.

Yesterday I was organizing my little library when I saw a piece of paper on the lawn right near the library. I picked it up thinking it was trash. It wasn’t. It was a check for landscaping and was close to $1700.00. I looked up the company and gave the owner a call. He just called and is on his way over to pick up the check. Come to find out my neighbor across the street found another of his checks. It was in the amount of $1200.00. How does that happen?

When I was a kid, people did their own landscaping. Mowing was a Saturday event. All the fathers in the neighborhood were out with their push mowers. I remember all the clicks from those mowers. My father mowed his lawn in a certain pattern which was why he never trusted us to mow. We were just fine with that. He mowed every Saturday unless it rained. He made it a ritual.

When I was growing up, some things were always men things while other things belonged only to women. Men never cooked in the kitchen, but they were the only ones who barbecued. I figure outside cooking harkened back to caveman times when the hunters rotisseried their game over an open flame. Women cleaned up. Men never did.

Once when my mother was away and my father was left to his own devices he had to a wash. He had no idea how the washing machine worked. He used the sink to wash his clothes, and because he also did not know how the dryer worked, he put the wet clothes on a line he strung in the kitchen.

Later on in life my father would help clean up in the kitchen. He was happy to help. He’d fill the dishwasher and scrub the pans. After he was finished and had gone in to watch TV, we’d rewash the pans. He always left residue he never noticed. We never told him.

In the summer, whenever I visited my parents for the weekend, I was certain of three things about my father. He would take me outside to admire his lawn, he would barbecue on Saturday night and he’d always cook Sunday breakfast. He’d even take orders on the eggs.


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