What I learned cutting grass

Copper lilies in the grass

Two years ago, the man who mowed our yard for years was discharged from his duties. (I’m not at liberty to disclose the reasons, although it is kind of a funny story.) A week or so later, while gazing over our shaggy lawn, the better half and I exchanged sideways looks that said, “So…who’s taking over this job?”

Guess how that turned out.

Confession time:  I like yardwork. I like being outside, mucking around in the flower beds, the smell of fresh dirt, weed eating.  I must get it from Mama Sarah, a Master Gardener and lawn care fanatic, who at age 83 still does all her own mowing (and we can’t get her to stop). She is a kindred spirit to some of our neighbors – Josh, Jim and Donnie, to name names – who have beautifully manicured Torrey Pines-like lawns with meticulously edged sidewalks and driveways. Josh’s yard is cut in a diagonal grid of perfectly even parallel lines, like the vacuum tracks at my mother-in-law’s house. Jim’s grass never reaches a height above 1.75 inches. Donnie cuts his grass about three times a week, sometimes after dark; we suspect it’s his outlet for stress.

My yard was once a hayfield and that old bahia grass shoots up a foot overnight. I hadn’t cut grass since high school, but I was willing and had the time. Any idiot can cut grass, right? 

And so, one spring afternoon, after a quick tutorial and words of instructional advice that went in one ear and out the other, I was let loose on the zero-turn and quickly raised the throttle from tortoise to hare. It was exhilarating, empowering and incredibly satisfying.  But I soon learned that things are different when you are in the driver’s seat, as opposed to watching from the kitchen window.

Inclines…the mower is prone to slide perilously down the riverbank when not approached at the proper angle. Hit a hole or stump, bounce out of the seat and the engine automatically shuts off. Sticks hidden in the grass can throw a belt and disrupt a whole afternoon, as can wasps, carcasses, low-hanging limbs, waterlogged patches or a geriatric dog planted directly in your path who grins at you and won’t move.  As for going around trees and flower beds, I had often fussed about shorn liriope, decapitated spider lilies and clipped fruit trees – I get it now!

I’m no pro and make dumb mistakes. I’ve gotten stuck and needed help.  I miss spots and have bumped into things. And there was that riverbank slide incident… But Clay doesn’t criticize too much because he knows I’m trying, or as we often say, “She don’t do the best job, but she does the job.”  

Now at the end of this second season, here is what I learned cutting grass: Comparison is the thief of joy. (Our lawn does not look like Josh’s.) Even when prepared, obstacles pop up that cause trouble, unanticipated conditions, misjudgments, blind spots. The bystander on the sideline might think they know how something is/should be done, armed with the luxuries of ignorance and inexperience (the old adage about walking a mile in another man’s shoes comes to mind), but grace from the lawn chair gardener goes a long way, especially from those who have never actually cut grass.

This isn’t really about grass.