March 28, 2024

Column: Mow fever

I have a love/hate relationship with my yard.

On one hand, I love its size and looks. I think it’s great to have plenty of space for the kids to run around, play catch, Frisbee or set up a tent for a close-to-home camping experience. I enjoy watching my dog run freely and fiercely within its confines.

But I kind of hate yard work of most varieties, and mowing tops the list.

It’s an activity I used to enjoy as a kid on my grandparents’ farm. Of course, I didn’t have a driver’s license then, so climbing onto my grandpa’s riding lawnmower and getting to “drive” while earning some cash was a legit situation.

This was, of course, before the invent of iPods. I would simply mow, think and enjoy being out in the summer sun, comfortable and content in the country. My earnings typically materialized into a trip into town for ice cream. It was a good gig.

However, since then I’ve personally tried to live in places in which lawn service is provided. Even at our current home, we’ve hired the job out since there’s so much ground to cover and we’re so busy. But alas, we also have three kids to put through college so that luxury was short lived.

When the grass started turning green a few weeks ago, it seemed like both a blessing and a curse. I knew the time would soon come to mow and with my husband’s hectic traveling schedule and my son at spring practices each night I figured the burden would fall on me. It did.

The first challenge was the gas can. After some searching, I came up with a 6-gallon jug in the garage. It was empty — for the most part. I carefully placed it in the back of my car, on an old sheet, and headed into the gas station.

But before I arrived into town the fumes were rather intense. When I pulled up to the fuel pumps and opened my hatch I discovered it had tipped and my old sheet was put to use. Oh well. I filled up the entire 6-gallon jug, which I’ve since been told isn’t recommended because — super heavy. I struggled to lift it back into my car, but somehow managed. Once back home, I again struggled to get it into the lawn mower, losing roughly 2 gallons of fuel from my wild pouring.

At last I was on my way, maneuvering the lawn and grooming the grass into beautiful straight paths. Armed with my iPhone and headphones, I cranked some Johnny Cash and sang as I drove — perks of living in the country I guess.

It wasn’t long before my Type A personality kicked in, and I became obsessed with my mission. My dad describes this euphoric state as “mow fever,” which is fairly accurate.

As I was buzzing around doing my best to knock out this chore before rain moved in, I noticed my next pass had an unfamiliar gap. Digging isn’t uncommon for our dog, so I figured she’d been up to her old tricks. But as I attempted to drive over the hole I realized it looked more like a small earthquake had occurred. I recognized it was too late for me to avoid hitting it when I came to an abrupt stop. With one wheel hoisted in the air, my mowing stint was over.

Our always helpful friend soon came over to push me out and spared my mower from an evening rain. I finished the job the following night, critiquing some of my patterns and plotting out my next run. April showers do bring May flowers, but they also bring mow fever.

Contact Abigail Pelzer
at apelzer@newtondailynews.com