We’re at the height of lawn-mowing season.
I know this, because every weekend in the tiny little hamlet of Rocky River, Ohio, the mowers start around 9 am (if your neighbors are even moderately considerate)…one-by-one…in the distance…down the street…and the off-and-on incessant drone lasts until Sunday evening.
It’s sort of to be expected this time of year, y’know?
But, I don’t quibble – unless some dimwit gets it all going at 7 am, or in the case of one breathtakingly manners-challenged neighbor: 9PM.
That’s always a treat to listen to while the family gathers ‘round the ‘ol Motorola to watch “Teen Mom” on MTV.
So, we have a bigger than normal yard – it’s not palatial by any means, but it’s not postage stamp size, either. Which makes it just big enough to be a pain in the ass, when you really don’t feel like sweating off 5 lbs. in 85 degree weather. It takes me about 45 minutes to an hour to do the whole thing.
Frankly, though, I feel all full of myself when I’m done with my freshly mowed, putting green lawn. The overwhelming scent of cut grass…the faint din all over the city of mowers singing in harmony. And when you’re done, that first taste of ice cold whatever…water/beer/soda – you pick – I’m easy.
And, we all have our ‘mowing shoes’ don’t we?
Those discarded, yet noble sneakers of yore, that served their time well…those old mainstays that, way back when, came home bright-white clean and ready to rumble, are now in their sunset years…worn out, one lace broken…but still, have a lot of use left.
Like many of us, really.
We give these shoes a second ‘encore’ career, as it were – so, they live on – proudly servicing our needs as we plow the back forty. They get progressively greener, and dirtier as the season rolls on…and when summer’s over, we put ‘em in the closet for next year, because they may be falling apart, but they still have functionality – at least for mowing.
Speaking of which, I think I hear some Lawn-Boys firing up…