I may be eaten by the lawn soon.
I generally avoid lawn mowing, as it is a thankless task that produces exactly zero satisfaction, but nevertheless it is something that has to be done because otherwise the powers that be here in Our Little Town will provide Tickets, possibly leading to Summons and/or Fines. So there you have it.
It was winter here a couple of weeks ago. Then it was high summer. It seems to have settled into a glum and rainy sort of spring now, which is fine by me. I like this weather. Any day closer to November where it isn’t over 63F is a good day as far as I am concerned. Only six months until nice weather returns! Shop early!
My point with that, and somewhere in there I did have one, is that not that long ago the grass was not growing at all. It was, in fact, several weeks into April, covered in snow and hibernating the way decent grass does. And then the weather got wet and hot and the grass started growing fast enough to produce that rubbery squeaking noise that you hear in cartoons when the main character is being squeezed through an opening the size of a pinhead and now you can hear the wildlife calling across the selva as the mighty Amazon thunders below.
Well that’s what it feels like, anyway.
So last week I hauled out the trusty lawnmower that has served since before Tabitha was born, only to find that it was no longer really very trustworthy at all. I gave it some oil, pushed on the little button that sprays fuel into the engine, yanked on the chain, and it was impassive. Imperturbable. Serene, even. Which is more than I could say for me.
Now, I believe that last year I actually did put the fuel stabilizer into it. There was a bottle of the stuff right next to the mower, and it was in fact opened and used. I could not swear that it was used last year as opposed to any other year, just as I could not swear to what exactly I had for lunch yesterday, but evidence does suggest that I had taken at least that much precaution. I like to believe that I had.
But toward the end of last summer I do recall the mower getting somewhat balky, independent of any fuel stabilizer issues, and perhaps it has now Balked Entirely, which by rights should get me to first base somewhere. And yet here I am.
So I loaded the mower into my little red car and schlepped it over to the Small Machine Repair Shop where I take the snow blower for its periodic resurrections, and they said it would be back sometime this week. Perhaps even today, though that didn’t pan out.
Meanwhile the grass keeps growing at a bamboo-like pace and the dandelions – which I regard with equanimity as a kind of spring flower – are bright and plentiful and every other neighbor on the block has already mowed their lawn. If I were capable of feeling even the smallest iota of shame about the state of my lawn I suppose it would have happened over the weekend, but so far no.
I’m expecting the mower back tomorrow, and perhaps shortly after that I will be welcomed back into the fold of Proper Small Town Lawn Owners.
Further bulletins as events warrant.