Lawning the Mow

You know how some stuff just sticks with you? Well, I remember driving in the car with my family one time. We were just cruising through a neighborhood. I must have been around ten or so. We were just going somewhere and we saw a man out cutting his grass. My brother got all excited and said "Look at that guy lawning his mow!" We all got a good laugh. Of course my brother had on his "Why Be Normal" hat at the time, so it all kind of fit.

I was thinking about this as I was out last weekend doing some lawn care at our temporary summer house. (Yes, I am writing this over a week later, but that is a different blog post.) I really hate lawn care. I mean I loathe it. I just genuinely despise all aspects of it. It's not that I'm opposed to a little hard work, or even being outside. I can't quite put my finger on it. Maybe because it was some of the first work ever done in the history of the Earth back in the Garden of Eden. It just leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

My earliest memories of lawning the mow are of my dad trying to show me how to do it. His neighbor needed his grass cut and I guess my dad wanted me to earn some extra dough. So next thing I know I am watching my dad show me how to pull start a rusty old Briggs & Stratton©.

He started mowing while I walked behind him and watched. He would stop every few minutes and holler something at me about what direction to turn, or how the throttle or something worked. You know how sometimes you just have to nod your head at people like you know what in the world they are talking about and just hope they don't ask you any questions about it? That was one of those times. I'm sure he had to explain everything to me all over again when it was finally my turn. Seventeen hours later I had the lawn finished. I don't even remember how much I made from that lawn, but I'm sure I frittered away on Nintendo© magazines and Mountain Dew©.

I had high school summer adventures mowing lawns with my good buddy, Kevin. I also mowed the university grass in college as part of the maintenance crew, including a place called the coliseum. Those were character building times in my life. And that's all I'm going to say about that.

I guess I have a weirdness about becoming a lawn guy. You know the type- the mow mid-week to keep the grass looking good guys. I'm referring to guys that talk about cutting their grass in in terms quarter inches. The guys who mow, then weed eat, then edge the sidewalks, then get the blower. These are the kind of guys that actually talk to other guys (usually other lawn guys) about their lawn.

If I had it my way, I'd be the opposite of a lawn guy. I want to be a dirt guy. I want a whole yard full of dirt. I want to get up every Saturday and go rake my dirt. One tool. One job. Neighbors would say "Hey Stortz, how's your dirt lookin'?" I'd say "Great. I think it's doing real well this season." I'd say that because it's dirt. How could it not be doing well? Nice and simple. I've got better things to do than worry about how my lawn is doing.

I've said in a previous post that my lawn was more "Malcolm in the Middle" than "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous." I'm pretty okay with that. And if my new HOA doesn't like it, I'll have a big pile of dirt they can help me rake.