Since retirement, I have been cutting the lawn with our riding lawn mower. I like the job. We have a lot of grass to cut and I like being outside in the sun and the summer breeze.  

I decided which direction I wanted to cut the lawn last week.  All my neighbors experiment with lawn patterns.  I set off on the left side of the house.  Our neighbors have a fence on that side, and two dogs.  I carefully steered the lawnmower along the fence line with the dogs barking at me and at the end, real trouble started.  There is a steep drop at the end of our lot that ends in a nasty detention pond.  We do not have a fenced yard.  I started to turn right too late and the left side of the lawn mower tipped down the left slope.  The machine shut off automatically.  I had to struggle to get off the seat and off the machine.  I threw myself onto the uncut lawn and looked at the house.  It was hot, and I could hear our air-conditioner and the panting dogs. I did not see my husband nor my son.

I struggled to stand up and then I fiddled with the controls and finally got the shifter into NEUTRAL, grabbed the seat, and pushed the mower forward.  It is very heavy and the wheels were turned the wrong way.  I grabbed the steering wheel and turned the wheels so that they were straight.  I then pushed the back of the damned thing up the steep grade, inch by inch, seemingly motivated by my increasingly volatile profanity.  “Come on dammit, MOVE. Not to the LEFT. STRAIGHT… you FUCKER! GO RIGHT UP THE HILL. JESUS CHRIST HAVE MERCY ON MY SOUL!”

Once it hit the flat grass surface I got onto the seat of the mower and I moved the rabbit shifter up, and did a half a dozen mysterious things to get the machine started. I took a deep breath and turned the key. The machine coughed on and I hurried to adjust the side cutting deck. It jerked forward and scared me. I put my foot on the brake to think about what pattern I wanted to show off on the lawn. “Whatever doesn’t kill me” I thought to myself, before the mower hurtled me forward. I had the speed a little fast on the machine and saw my husband running across the lawn toward me. I stepped on the brake and said “What?”

 “YOU’RE GOING TOO FAST!” he yelled. He caught up to the over motivated mower, and adjusted the speed. A single puzzled bird stared at us from our rooftop. I jerked the wheel to finish another row. I heard a loud ka-chunk and realized my mistake: the mower shredded a downspout drainage cap in the lawn, and spat out a hundred little green pieces in all directions. The explosion of plastic happened so quickly, but the mower just kept on cutting, shrugging off the devastation.

I kept on cutting row after row until the end with the mailbox, which I hit. That stopped the mower. I had to get off my seat and pull the mower away from the mailbox. I was much sorer by this time as I went through all the steps and started the mower again. I climbed onto the seat and pulled my hair back behind my ears. I took a deep breath and felt very tired.

I turned the key to the mower and felt the lawnmower balk. “What the Hell?” I asked myself. It has no room to complain. The lawnmower stopped moving an alarming dozen times on our way to the garage. Then about twenty feet away from the garage door it quit entirely. I got off the seat and turned my head upside down to read the gas gauge…which is not well marked. I knew it was empty. “Shit, shit, shit!” I said to myself.

I moved to the rear of the mower and pushed it into the garage. I turned the wheel sideways so that it did not roll down the incline of the garage floor, which in turn meant that the mower would be parked diagonally across the garage floor as if it were the showpiece vehicle at the local dealership.  I know it was in the wrong place.

I felt every year of age, every muscle of my body that was pushed to its limit, and a deep fatigue. I climbed the five steps into the house, turned around and slapped the garage door button. The door shut with a grinding chain sound followed by a final thump.  It was music to my ears.