Confession of a lawn-mower

I just read an article telling me that Canadian women who have reached the age of 75 are likely to live to 89. If they are financially secure and have a healthy lifestyle, add five years. I’m glad, because I just had to replace my riding lawnmower, and I’d like to get my money’s worth. (I’m giving myself 3 out of 5 for the lifestyle bit.)

Every time I make another investment in this place I’ve called home for more than fifty years, I think of the tired joke about old people and green bananas. Don’t buy them because you may not be around long enough to see them ripen. And I may not be around—at least around here—long enough to get full value from my mower. It’s a gamble I’ve decided to take, with the mower and with my life here in general.

It’s been more than two and a half years since Jack died. I already knew I would stay here, on “the farm”, though many others doubted it.. It’s been an adjustment. A bit of an adventure. This old house is quirky, and it had never been my job to understand it. I’ve had a few moments of regret, but many more moments of self-satisfaction. I can do this—though it sometimes means hiring someone or relying on friends or family to do things Jack would have done. I don’t use chain saws or soldering torches.

When we arrived here in 1972, we set out to farm. And farm we did. For the next fifteen years, our lives were defined by the demands of a working farm. Mowing the lawn—no riding mower back then—was a low-priority, often-neglected chore. After we sold the livestock and leased out the fields, I began imagining something quite different. A country estate. Well managed “grounds”, lush gardens, graceful shade trees. That was thirty years ago. I’m still imagining.

The thing is, I’m not really a gardener. I putter, but I’ve never managed to create anything even close to my image in that department. I approach April with grand plans and lose interest by late June. By September, I’ve determined to do better next year. I rarely do.

The shade trees—well, that would have been easy if not for Dutch elm disease and emerald ash borer. This is probably the last year for my many ash trees. Only one elm remains standing, and it’s dead. I’ll wait to have it taken down when I have to have the ashes removed. I’m waiting in trepidation to see what comes along to claim the oaks and maples. The poplars thrive, and although they’re considered weed trees, I’m grateful for them.

That leaves the “grounds”, and the reason for the new mower. During those farming days, our lawn was fairly small. But cattle kept the grass down in the barnyard, on one side of the yard, and a huge vegetable garden occupied the space on the other side. When the cows were gone and the garden got smaller and smaller, we began mowing those spaces. When the barn itself came down, we began mowing where it had been. And so on…

Here’s the garden, shrinking over time.

And the “barnyard”. The barn is long gone, but the shed and the now-unused pottery studio seem to demand mowing around…

“Stop!” I say to myself every spring. “There is no need to mow so much. You are an environmental pariah. Shame!” Then I stand on my deck and look out at my freshly mown grounds and sigh with guilty contentment. In my defense—feeble, I know—but as you can see, my lawn is not really the stuff of estates. It’s about as far from a well-maintained monoculture as you can get, and I don’t fret about that. It’s bumpy and uneven, and filled with weeds of every kind, moss, clover…you name it.

Sometimes I still think of an apartment somewhere—no hassle, close the door and fly away. That day may come. But really, there’s nowhere I want to fly to. I realized a long time ago that I’m a nester (I prefer “nester” to “homebody”). I’m happy for my friends who travel the world. Some part of me feels less complete for my lack of wanderlust. I’m sure I’d be a more cultured and interesting person if I’d travelled more. (I do still have ties to Mexico, though it’s an open question how strong those ties are.) 

Meanwhile, I guess I’ll be using mower fuel instead of jet fuel and hope I can keep driving my new mower around this patch of land for a few years yet. I suppose there’s still a chance I’ll be redeemed and make it smaller…