Getting Lost in the Grass

For the first time in many months my lawn is cut short. That’s not an unusual declaration for the first mowing of the season, but last year I had trouble with my mower. It wasn’t running right, and it wasn’t cutting closely. In fact, it was hard to even tell where I had mowed, as the mower blades were no match for the grass blades. Thankfully, Dave and Chester, a father and son repair team in Shakopee, fixed things up, and now I’m back in business.

Sunday, I got the grass cut before the rain fell (timing is everything). I drove the mower out of the barn and parked in front of the old car shed, where I added some gas to the tank. From there I began my journey; I like to start with the easier sections first, such as near the barnyard where I have chased chickens that had flown over the fence but had forgotten how to fly back. One night I did this quite early in the morning with a flashlight in one hand and a landing net in the other.

Next on the agenda is the ramp that leads to the barn loft. Four years ago this month invited guests walked up the ramp for the wedding reception of my daughter, Jennifer and her husband, Adam. I’ve not been able to watch a father–daughter dance dry eyed since then.

Near the barn is the chicken coop, and in front of the coop is a fire ring bordered by rocks that I mow around. Whatever weeds that manage to hide among the rocks are consumed by future flames. When the kids were at home, the rocks were often cleared of weeds, as they had friends over many times in the summer months. There are some wild flowers that grow next to the coop; we have a cut and dried understanding – I allow them to grow in that area, but no further.

As I mow past the car shed and granary, I cut around the basketball court, where when our children were little I had the concrete slab put in so we would have a place to play. It’s been a dozen years or so since I have been able to beat my son, Nathan, at basketball. I can still hear the sound of the bouncing ball over the noise of the lawnmower.

Next to the slab we used to have a net set up for volleyball and badminton. A big apple tree and the basketball court provided the east–west boundaries. The apple tree is dying and the birdies no longer fly across a net that is not there, but it still needs to be mowed.

Nathan used to barter with Jennifer for mowing duties; if she mowed the orchard (with its low, scratchy branches), he would mow the rest of the yard. As both of them have their own yards now, I am left to mow the whole yard myself.

As I mow near the old, gnarled plum tree, I stop to smell the blossoms. Then it’s back to the west side to mow around the house. It’s become quite a jungle underneath the weeping willow my brother, Dan, gave me for my 50^th birthday. Now Dan’s gone and the tree and I mourn him.

I end the mowing in the riding arena. It’s a fenced in area in front of the house that has seen horses, football, sheep, croquet, softball, Frisbee, dogs, and children. I hurry through this part of the yard, as I sense rain coming. Now that the mower is back in the barn and I’m back in the house, I think about how quickly life goes by. I pray that I stay sharp and my days are not cut short.