The Worst Outdoor Chore

When I was growing up I never had to cut grass b/c I'm a girl and my parents are old-fashioned. My father cut the grass with his tractor and it took roughly 10 minutes. After we got rid of the tractor, he got a couple of push mowers and for some reason he and my mother had a little competition going- each tried to cut more grass than the other. The yard looked great.

But after a few summers both parents got tired of grass cutting so Dad sprayed the entire yard with herbicide to kill all the grass. I thought this was incredibly ugly and somewhat lazy on his part. I was in Junior High at the time and I was acutely embarrassed by the dead, ugly ground. I think originally Dad wanted a swept yard. His family used to sweep yards for extra money when we was a child and apparently he thought it was fun. What he failed to realize is a swept yard doesn't last very long; it requires near constant attention. Furthermore, grass serves the important function of keeping dirt in one place. It also keeps the house clean. With bare dirt turns to mud with each rain and splatters an unsightly mess on the house.

I didn't have to cut grass until I moved into the trailer. My father gifted me with a lawn mower. It was free, so that should tell you how good it was. I remember him pushing it across the yard and telling me that someone moved out and left a "perfectly good lawn mower" I argued with him, stating no, people do NOT leave perfectly good lawn mowers. He maintained that it needed 'a little work' but it would be fine.

It needed a little work every single time I cut grass.

The carburetor always needed to be cleaned. Always. Even if it was cleaned the day before. It guzzled gas and always needed more. If I cut grass without stopping I could cut a long time, but if I quit for say, 30 minutes, I had to add gas before the mower would start again even if I had half a tank.

The other problem with the lawn mower was I couldn't start it. The mower had a pull string starter (I'm sure there's a proper name for that, maybe fly wheel starter, but I forget the name) I would pull hard enough to yank the mower off the ground and it still wouldn't start. Then I would call Kevin, Dad, or Drunk Neighbor and one of the 3 would march over with his manly chest puffed out and in a somewhat condescending tone inform me that I just wasn't doing it right. With a bicep twice the size of mine, Kevin, Dad, or Drunk Neighbor would gently pull the string and mower would roar to life. Then one of the 3 would stand in the driveway and shout advice until I screamed at them to go somewhere and die.

As if the mower wasn't trouble enough, my yard slanted in two directions, so no matter where I started cutting at least half the time I was pushing the mower uphill. Forget Crunchless Abs. Go cut grass for a full body work-out. You need all those core muscles to push while marching all over the yard and the fat on your arms giggles away from the constant hard vibration of a gas guzzling beast. And did I mention HOT! The sweat runs in rivers. Surely this tortures burns a few thousand calories every ten seconds.

So thoroughly pissed off with everything, I'd march back and forth, back and forth, bravely battling uphill, panting for air, sweat dripping...ick. I need a shower just thinking about it. Finally I'd be done. I'd let go of that hated mower and stand back and...oh, I only cut the front yard. All this took me a few hours and I wasn't even half done. I'd stand there in the heat with the bugs circling annoyingly and see the long waving grass of the back yard, the side yards, got to move the truck to cut the driveway...

Feeling depressed, I'd trudge toward the house. At this point I'd notice my heart was pounding at an alarming rate. Heart disease runs in my family so of course I thought I was having a heart attack. I'd tried to reassure myself that I was just weak and out of shape. I'd chant my mantra It's not my time, it's not my time, it's not...OMG I'm to DIE right here in the yard!

Finally I'd make it in the house where I'd collapse over the air conditioning vent. I'd lay there until my heart decided it wasn't going to explode after all. Then I'd peel off my sweaty, stinking, grass clipping covered clothes and crawl into the shower where I'd lay in a miserable heap until all the hot water ran out.

Of course, after a shower I wasn't about to cut grass again. So I'd put the lawn mower up and promise myself I'd finish the yard the next day.

Then it would rain.

It would rain until I went back to work. By the time I had another day off the front yard looked like it did before I cut it. The rest looked perfectly suited for lions to hunt elephants.

Sometimes Kevin would cut grass for me. I'd bring him sweat tea and cold wash rags. Of course, I had to wait for a sunny day when he was off work, so most of the time I could still hear the distant growl of lions.

One day a biker showed up on the porch and announced that he was my neighbor and he would cut the yard and weed eat for $35. Sold! His name was Tim and he rode his riding lawn mower over with the weed eater perched in his lap. I left glasses of sweat tea on the porch. Sometimes I would leave the money under the door mat and when I came home the grass would be cut. On our days off Kevin and I sat in the swing and admired the short, lion free grass.

Life was good until the trailer park was sold. The new owner was under the mistaken impression that I lived on a golf course so he wanted the grass cut every two weeks or less. That comes to $70 a month, which I couldn't afford. Suddenly Dad's idea about killing the grass made a lot more sense. I started looking for ways to avoid grass cutting. I discovered that the American lawn is an idea the British brought over and our climate really isn't suited for it because we don't get enough rain. Plus, the Brits wisely mix in clover. We plant one kind of grass, creating a monoculture. Monocultures don't thrive because eventually all the plants suck all the nutrients out of the soil. Clover provides nitrogen which naturally fertilizes the grass. We dumb Americans prefer to pour chemicals all over our grass so we slowly poison ourselves as the toxic mess makes its way to the ground water. I ripped out large section of grass for planted flower beds.

Now I'm in the new house and it's too far for Tim to ride his lawn mower. The neighbor's kid was supposed to cut grass, but he wants $50. Did I mention I have a smaller yard now? My landlord gifted me with a lawn mower. It's pull starter push mower and (sigh) it was free. Found it at the dump. Has a hole in the gas tank.

I didn't even try to start it. Kevin's off this weekend. Maybe it will stop raining soon.