Mowing away

I complain a lot -- and I know it's a lot -- about the way my neighbors mow.
No, it's not the way; it is the frequency.

I don't want anyone to think that I don't appreciate, acknowledge, and value the well-kept lawn. I even get ashamed of ours when it isn't mowed, although I also like to watch the teeny-tiny wildflowers that work their way through the grass. Pinkish white, yellow, purple.
Delicate.
Beautiful.

I like to watch the birds, too. They really have a feast once the longer grass has been cut. I suppose that there must be more of it gone to seed and once it's cut the birdies can get at the seeds. They sure do like it for some reason! They make almost as much noise as the neighbor's lawnmowers.

If I had a mower I could use, I'd probably mow every day, too. I'd mow the front on Monday, the side on Tuesday, the other side Wednesday, and I'd split the back on the other two weekdays.

But I wouldn't mow the whole freaking lawn every other day! That does NOT equal a beautiful lawn.
In fact, the lawns in question were turning brown -- in APRIL! In OHIO!
Sounds like overkill to me.

But I have no grudge against the normal people who take satisfaction in a job well done. Or those whose goal is to beautify and brighten, and to create a resting place for the eyes.
To those yard workers and weed warriors, I say "Well done" and "Thank you." Your efforts are noticed and appreciated.
You may make me look bad, but your work is beautiful.

Lawns are Overrated

This summer may be as memorable for its Lawn Mowing Crises as it will be for its No Bathing scenario.

When last we mowed, the riding mower  wasn't starting, so not running, and our quasi son-in-law had been mowing when the push mower decided to oil both him and the yard, as if from a cut artery. Rex went to a yard sale and bought another push mower. The Doofus mowed, but before he finished, he managed to break a ceramic guard off the newly purchased mower.

Rex managed to start and run the rider a few times, through the magic of jiggling and wiggling the fuse box, so the yard was done after a fashion. Not that he has had any business outside in heat and humidity, throwing up clouds of cut grass and pollens.
Earlier this week he was mowing on the rider when it quit cutting. It was running, but it just quit cutting the grass.
His diagnosis: a bearing on the deck went out. (Later he said it might be a broken or stretched-out belt, but of course the first thing he thought of was the most difficult and probably the most expensive cause.) We're waiting for Doofus to come and help him check it out, since it isn't something Rex can do alone or with my feeble assistance.

Yesterday I got out the push mower. I couldn't start it. Starting a push mower requires more co-ordination than I have ever had, and a fair bit of strength. I had hoped to have some mowing done by the time Rex woke, but that wasn't going to happen.

The sad thing is, he no longer has the strength to push/pull/hold and start the mower. At least, he didn't yesterday. It may have been a bad day for him. More likely it is his chronic illness catching up with him.
He's not ready to concede that, and it will take something from his spirit when he does.

What's so important about mowing anyway? Have you ever tried letting your lawn grow and seeing what Mother Nature will provide when you don't scalp her abundance to nothing?

There are shy little white flowers, with sprinklings of gold fairy dust that will creep out from the exposed roots of trees. There are exquisitely tiny johnny-jump-ups that jump up from nowhere. There are, of course, the golden sun discs of the dandelion. The white-to-pink-to-purple fronds of clover. There is the weaving waving sinuous grass-in-the-wind. And that's just the plant life!

Lawn mowing is overrated. It's too bad that so many towns require a certain amount of lawn mowing, because Nature provides a nice variety of textures and colors and scents and sounds and general liveliness that will never be felt, seen, smelled, or heard in a properly manicured and subdued lawn.

I cherish the variety Nature provides. I also cherish my husband, and I mourn with him that he cannot do this one thing that he has taken pride in being able to do -- keep his yard looking nice. If we cannot fix or replace his rider, or get a push mower that doesn't need starting (my first brother suggested an electric mower -- a wonderful idea for the purpose), then we will have to look into a different living arrangement.

Different indeed, with no lawn for him to mow or me to watch nature grow. It will be sad to leave the roots and wonders, but a joy to leave the(before, during, later on) malfunctioning machinery behind and have it out of our lives.


When that day ever comes. It's taking its time, as Nature takes hers, and fills my yard with flowers.