Mower-ist for hire

One of my jobs over the summer was to mow the lawns at my brother and partner’s place. Oh yeah, I thought, I might be able to do that. It involved a ride-on mower, something I had never even been close to, let alone sat on or driven. Lynne gave me a lesson. Off I set, but I forgot to engage the blade, so all I did was flatten the grass with the mower’s fat tyres. Second attempt, earphones on, I engaged the blade and cut some grass. It’s noisy, smelly work, like cooking, you could say. But I know where I would rather be. Still, I had to master the beast while they were away.

 I wasn’t great on corners. Nope. I worried the blade would scrape the concrete edges or knock the rock border. I did scrape the concrete edges and I did knock the rock border and dislodge rocks. Many times. Undeterred, I mowed on, leaving the carnage behind me. The thing about being on a ride-on mower, is that you can’t look back, at least, not while you are accelerating. I learnt that very quickly; I swear a tree wasn’t involved.

I wanted to spruce up the gardens before they returned home and get the place looking tip-top, so once the drizzle stopped, I hopped on. The grass was green and lush, lovely stuff. The mower chopped through it, burping up appreciative munching sounds every time I hit a thick patch. I was pleased. I didn’t have to mow the entire 2 acres, as half the grass is in clover – I just made that up – anyway, it’s deliberately left long for the neighbouring farmer to cut and bale up.

I didn’t run out of petrol mid-mow. Thank God for that. I hate the smelly stuff. I got the mower back into the garage, safe and sound, aligned and tidily parked, but then I looked at the tyres – caked in grass. Bugger. I knew it would dry, the garage door would be up, the wind would blow, and it would go everywhere. I had already swept out the garage, refusing to use that other noise machine, a leaf blower. There was nothing to do but peel the grass from the tyres. I found a screwdriver and hacked into the tyres, working through the tread … well, life is definitely way too short to peel grass off tyres, so I only did the bits you could see. It took half an hour. I closed the garage door and made a large pot of tea.

Later, I walked around the garden, admiring my unmown corner tufts – they looked quite cute, I thought – my wobbly mowing lines, where I had zig-zagged for no apparent reason other than fun, and the many dislodged rocks. But OMG, then I walked into the area in front of the grapes. Seriously, I do not know how I only did the sides and left the middle unshorn. What a sight! Even for un-sore eyes.

What I have learnt is invaluable. If you don’t go over a patch of grass, it doesn’t get mown. It’s like a vacuum cleaner. You vacuum the house, but you miss the corners, don’t move the furniture, can’t be bothered doing the laundry and the bathroom. Those areas don’t clean themselves; they just wait for you next time. Same with grass.