Working in the Yard

I had to cut the yard yesterday. I had let it go thinking I would cut it later. But later it rained. So I waited. By then the week had come and between school, my daughter’s piano lessons, faculty meetings, and going to my parent’s house in Marshall for the weekend I ended up waiting almost three weeks to cut my damn grass. My yard was a mess.

I enjoy doing yard work. I’m not sure why, but I really do. Maybe it’s the fact that I work hard and when I’m done I can see the results right then. There are no three chances to pass, no waiting three to five months for the results and no forming of a committee to study diagnostics of the situation. When you are finished you can look around and see that you have done a good job. I don’t know, maybe that’s it.

In my neighborhood, lawn work is a lost art. People either are too old, too busy or just too apathetic to do their own yard. I rarely see anyone out cutting his or her own yard. Most people pay to have it done. And that’s okay. Don’t get me wrong. If I had the money to pay someone, I probably would. But I think I’d miss it. I hope I would.

What’s considered yard work these days is landscaping. Planting flowers and stuff like that. Landscaping is equally hard work. I’ve done it, I know. But there is something a little less artsy, a little less Come on sorority sisters, let’s plant these flowers! about cutting the grass, your own grass, it feels totally different. It’s very rewarding.

So there I am, with my new John Deere, gas powered trimmer, its three-horse power engine at full throttle, sweating like a large fifth grader after recess, mercilessly attacking the dangling sprigs of Saint Augustine that happen to be poking onto the sidewalk. And loving every minute of it!

I paused for a moment, to inspect my work. That’s when my neighbor from across the street, who I was unaware was also doing his yard, called over.

Tear it up man! That’s quite a machine you got there.

I’m not sure if all men are this way, although I pray we are and act as though my prayers have been answered, but for me, a chance to talk about and show off a new yard toy is situation you just don’t pass up. For me it’s right up there with getting the chance to see the Beatles live in concert. You stop whatever you’re doing and just do it.

So, of course, I stopped and showed off my toy.

We discussed the line weight, the oil and gas mixture and all the attachment options. We compared the various styles and brands. (Although, when you’re holding a John Deere, you don’t mention much else) I let him give it a spin and then he made all the appropriate comments about, and was sufficiently impressed with its power. And we both got back to work.

The whole conversation took about four minutes. Any longer would have just been too long.

When I finished I yelled to him across the street.

Here we are, working in the yard, talking about tools, sweating…I even wiped my nose on my shirt, damn-it! It doesn’t get any more manly than this. If I had a beer, I’d be in heaven!

We both laughed and I walked inside for that beer