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Last Updated: Dec 12, 2008 - 4:54:39 PM |
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I hate to mow. Really. With the exception of bananas and bats, in fact, I can’t think of anything I hate more. Until recently I had assumed the reason I hate mowing so much is because I’m allergic to everything that lives, grass being one of them, so I feel miserable afterwards. My sinuses clog, my head spins, my hands swell, my throat closes—I’m rendered incapable of normal functioning for pretty much the rest of the day. Other people mow their lawns and seem to enjoy it. I’ve seen people (men mostly) at auctions. They buy lawn mowers as if they’re buying a car---kicking the tires, looking under the hood, asking how many “hours” are on it (whatever that means). Mowing is a way to not only keep up with the proverbial Jones’s, it’s a way to outdo them. “It takes me three hours to mow my lawn”, you say, and your neighbor or friend or stranger in the next booth at the café says, “Pffft. That’s nothing. It takes me three and a half, and it’s all uphill.”
Personally, I’ve considered bricking in my entire backyard. It’s only twenty feet by sixty feet, tops, so a gas powered mower always seemed like overkill. Then two summers ago, my $10 Lawn Boy conveniently started disintegrating. First, the battery pack fell off when the mower flew out of the back end of a friend’s truck after taking a particularly sharp and quick turn onto Western Avenue. Surprisingly, it landed upright and was pretty much unscathed. As it was, the battery wasn’t that important since it was always dead (even if supposedly charged) and I had to pull-start the stupid mower every time anyway.
Then last year the handle broke. It didn’t break completely off, but after attempting several passes up what seemed to be a 90 degree hill at one of my houses, it bent at an odd angle where it was bolted together, rendering it nearly impossible to use unless you were on a lawn with no bumps or inclines, or hidden bricks and concrete. Consequently, I abandoned it outside under my deck, where it spent the winter mired in six inches of ice and covered with two feet of snow.
I didn’t even try to start it this summer. Instead, I decided I would just use the weed whacker. My yard is mostly weeds anyway, since I have a complete inability to keep anything alive except dogs and a hearty houseplant called a Pothos (they wilt when they need water), so it seemed like a logical conclusion. You have weeds, you whack them.
Now I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to use a weed whacker to mow your entire lawn, but it’s beyond annoying---even with a yard as tiny as mine. I get covered in grass, rocks bounce off my shins, and all I end up with are some open wounds and a yard that appears as though it’s been chewed by sheep.
So last week, based on a rumor that I could get one for $20 at Menards, I went in search of a reel mower. Yes, you heard me right---one of those sticks with a cylindrical blade on the end of it that you manually push to cut grass. As it turns out it was more than $20 but I bought it anyway. By that time I was determined.
I used to have a reel mower that I’d bought on auction back in the 90’s. It had a wooden handle, rusty blades and I’m pretty sure it weighed 1,000 pounds. People would drive by my little house, gawking with mouths wide at the sweat pouring off my head, and I’m sure wondering just what the heck had come over that strange Turnbull girl. I wondered that myself. It was horrible, but I used it anyway--for awhile, before I gave up and decided to pay someone else to do it with a rider.
This time is different. When I got home from Menards, I took my aluminum-handled mower out of its box, thrilled when I noticed it said “No tools needed”, screwed it together and began mowing. Now I’m not sure if it was the “pppppppbbbbbbbrrrr” noise it makes or if it was the screaming and foul words that emanated from my mouth because Tuck had wrapped his tie-out line around my ankle and run away, but Wayne came to investigate from across the empty lot, looked around my fence and said “That looks like work.” This is pretty much everyone’s reaction when I tell them what I’ve done.
But let me tell you. For the first time in my life, I don’t mind it. The whirr of the blades is kind of soothing instead of noisy and nerve racking and I’m walking the same distance anyway. The mower is lighter weight than my gas-powered monster, my hands don’t swell, and it doesn’t swing me around like a contestant on “Dancing with the Stars” at the end of the row---plus it doesn’t cost me $4 a gallon to run. It turns out my aversion to mowing was not an allergic reaction, but a distaste to the noise and vibration of the motor. It’s actually easy, and as a bonus, it’s better for the environment. Try it. I dare you. If you’d like to one-up me, it comes in a wider model.
© Copyright 2008 by The East Iowa Herald
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