Notes from a Married but Independent Woman

The first time I mowed the grass it was as a favor to my parents. I thought that it would be helpful since they were busy and it is a lot of yard. My parents have four children, the only boy being the oldest of us all, so I had never mowed the grass before. I figured I could do mow the grass, it couldn’t be that hard. So I pulled the push mower out of the garage and started in the front yard. It was actually a lot harder than it looked because the mower was heavy.

After I finished the front yard, I stopped to grab some water. I was thankful that it wasn’t as hot as it normally could be, but the backyard had absolutely no shade so I wasn’t taking chances. I saw the neighbor across the street watching me and waved. He waved back, and I moved to the backyard. My parents’ backyard was long, and there was a wooded area in the very back. I remember snippets of conversation with my parents and siblings about the groundhogs, rabbits, deer, and other animals back there. So I made sure to only go to the areas that the dogs walk in.

I was pushing the mower back up towards the house when I noticed the neighbor from across the street walking over to me. I cut off the engine and we had a casual conversation about why I was mowing the grass, and if my parents and brother were doing well. I thought it was odd, but my family was one of the original families on this street and the neighbors have always been kind to them. I also noticed that my hands were beginning to cramp, so I massaged them out as we spoke. He glanced down at them, conclude our talk, and I finished the hand.

A couple of hours later, I was ready to cry as I had my hands soaking in warm water. They were hurting so bad that even trying to close them into fists caused shooting pain up my arms. My father walked into the kitchen asking me what was wrong and I told him.

“Did you hold the handle up for the self propeller?”

I gave him a blank stare. “What do you mean self-propeller?”

He hesitated, “The lawn mower has a self propeller attached to it. Its that bottom handle.” I continued to stare at him. “You did know that it was a self propeller, right?”

Now I was horrible sobbing. “No!” As he laughed at my pain, I had a horrible thought. “Did the neighbor know?!”

“Probably. Why?”

“He had a full on conversation with me and never said a word!” My father only laughed harder.

I soaked my hands every day for three days, but I never forgot about the self propeller handle.

The second time was for my own yard. When my husband and I got married we agreed that the yards, garage, and bathrooms were his responsibility. Everything else I would do. Unfortunately, he wasn’t home until very late on weeknights, and weekends were the times that he caught up on sleep. I knew that the backyard was becoming a jungle and with three dogs it was only going to get worse, so I pulled the old mower that my father in law had given us, and pulled the cord, making sure to pull up the self propeller handle. I only made a couple of passes in the backyard before the mower simply died. I tried to turn it back on and nothing worked. I went next door to my favorite neighbors, only no one was home, so I called my father in law. Thankfully he was nearby, and he quickly figured out that the blades were clogged. He flipped the mower over and cleaned the undercarriage out.

“You gotta clean this out every once in a while so that it doesn’t get clogged.”

“That is Matthew’s job. I’m not putting my hands anywhere near those blades.”

After he left, I thought I would add some gas just to make sure. Unfortunately, the mower was so old that the labels had been eroded away. I poured some into what I thought was the gas tank, and then tried to start the mower. Nothing. I ended up calling my father in law back. It had only been fifteen minutes since he left and I was already needing assistance. When he arrived, I told him what I did and that it still wasn’t working.

He took one look at the mower and asked, “Where did you put the gas?”

I indicated which opening, and he shook his head while laughing. “That’s for the oil. You put gas in the oil tank.”

I was so embarrassed that I didn’t even want to finish mowing the grass. My father in law thought the whole thing was hilarious, so he finished the backyard for me, and stayed to tell Matthew all about it.

Matthew now makes it a habit to always have gas in the lawn mower in case I get the urge to mow again.

The third time I mowed my grass was my left side neighbor’s favorite memory and my husband’s worst nightmare. The old mower had finally died and my father in law assisted me in buying a new one. I was so tired of the high grass, and my husband was obviously too busy to go. So we brought the new mower home and I had Matthew use it first. The next time, I mowed by myself and didn’t realize until I was almost done that I was running out of gas. I asked the right side neighbor if they had any, and they let me borrow it with the promise that Matthew would replace it. Except after pouring the gas in, I couldn’t get the mower to start. No amount of yanking on the cord was working. Now I had to wait for Matthew to come home.

What I did not know about the right side neighbor’s gas can was left outside with no cap on all the time. Which meant that the gas was watered down from all the rain we had that week. I had put watered gas into the brand new lawn mower, which apparently can cause rust, corrosion and other damage in the fuel tank, fuel lines, carburetor and spark plug. I knew it was bad but Matthew acted as if I killed our dogs. According to him, we couldn’t flip the mower over and he didn’t have anything to vacuum the bad gas out. He invited the left side neighbor to come help, who laughed as Matthew threw his temper tantrum. I walked into the house and called my father who found the whole thing hilarious.

“Sweetheart, while I believe that mowing would be great exercise for you, and we all have appreciated your efforts to help. Maybe you should stop mowing the grass.”

I sniffed, “I’m thinking of just planting a lot of trees. Then the boys would have shade, and Matthew can simply use the weed eater.”

My father laughed at me. “And what kind of trees would you plant?”

“I was thinking weeping willow trees. I like the drooping branches.”

“Cute. Put a couple of those in and some functional ones like a pear tree. Then you’d never have to go anywhere.”

I hung up and thought about it. My father had a point. A pear tree would be different and useful. It would also cut down on the area that I would have to mow. Unfortunately, I just didn’t realize what new problems having a pear tree could cause.

My left side neighbor also makes it a habit to come outside any time he sees me mowing the yard. Just in case.