I did a lot of mowing today. I can’t say how much in acres, only in hours — usually around four, with a few breaks between plots and with three different machines.
I prefer my zero-turn until my back starts to bother me (got to do something about the seat), then my conventional rider, followed by a half-hour or so with a push mower.
It’s that time of year when warm days with sunshine follow rainy spells, and grass has taken the cue — “Grow now, fast!”
Of course, on my wet prairie “grass” is liberally construed to include any green plant that isn’t a tree. Ragweed, ironweed, lambs-quarter, plantain, assorted yellow and purple flowers and all the rest of nature’s springtime bouquet are included, as well as varieties of “swamp grass” that I have no names for.
Never mind the species or variety. I love them all. Closely cropped — but not too closely — they all make a for a green lawn. For several years they also combined talents to provide nearly year-round grazing for a couple of steers.
But, my four-legged mowing machines are no longer around, so I’m stuck with the mechanical kind — and making regular trips to the gas station, rather than the feed store.
It’s a good thing I like mowing. Something about riding a rumbling machine in loops around the yard is sublimely peaceful and satisfying (until something breaks). It’s also a good time for thinking, composing newspaper columns and just daydreaming.
I do quite a lot of all three, and nowhere is my time more singularly mine than on the seat of a riding mower.
Another reason I think we all enjoy mowing is the element of instant gratification. Other outdoor activities, like gardening, take time to produce results. Mowing doesn’t. We can simply look over our shoulders at the clear swaths in our yard and see what we’ve done. Something about seeing a ragged patch of weeds and grass instantly transformed into a smooth yard brings at least a satisfied sigh or grins. Even if it is a machine doing all the real work, we can call the results ours.
Looking back a few years, I find the feeling somewhat akin to that of watching black soil fold from the moldboard of a plow. It’s just that thing of watching the world be changed in small ways. It could be corn husks flying from a combine, alfalfa falling before the teeth of a sickle bar or clean concrete emerging at the scrape of scoop shovel across a dairy barn floor.
City-bred or country-born, we all enjoy seeing our efforts produce results. There is in every one of us an innate sense of pride in making a difference in the world around us, no matter how small.
Maybe I’m overthinking this thing about mowing, or maybe not. It’s just one of many chores that change us as much as the object of our labors. Any country kid who ever raised a calf or city kid who overhauled his own car engine knows what I mean.
And it’s not just us guys.
Personal accomplishment and subtle pride know no gender. Whether one acre or a hundred, mowing is not just a “guy thing.”
And, it’s not just about the grass — I warned you I was overthinking this thing.
Have a happy summer.
A former feature writer for Ozarks Farm and Neighbor, Jim Hamilton is a retired newspaper editor/publisher. Hamilton was reared on a small dairy farm in Dallas County, Mo. Contact Jim at [email protected].
