The Philosophy of Lawnmowers.

It never ceases to amaze me how much my lawnmower will take and keep on going.
This little push mower was born to be a pampered baby. It sat there, cute as can be, on the showroom floor in our local Sears store, and begged me to take it home (it was the cheapest model and I was tired of the Rain Dance required to get hubby's lawn mower to start - you gotta work with what you have).

"Look at my shiny paint job and wheels", she boasted.
"Take me home", she said.
"Once a week I will delicately stroll through your manicured lawn and keep it just as pretty as I am", she purred.
"I will never give you one lick of trouble", she promised.

Well, I'm a sucker for big, red, Craftsman eyes, so what the heck. Did I mention it was the cheapest model available.

I'm pretty sure once she saw my "lawn" she fainted, but being of the feminine sort, she rallied and quickly rose to the task.

Not once did she remind me that she was built to "delicately stroll through a manicured lawn" as she had to wade and chomp through my "lawn", more meadow than manicured, and more hayfield than lawn.

She bravely went where no lawnmower should have been required to go, chomping up to 18" long grass and spitting it out the side. She never complained when we hit dirt patches or rocks. Actually the only time she complained is when I forgot about her and left her outside buried under 47 feet of snow all winter. But then, all she required was some TLC from hubby and his endless knowledge of how such beauties work (and a spark plug).

As we spent some quality time together yesterday I was reminded again just how hard she works and I vowed (as I do every fall) to take a few extra minutes when winterizing her (dragging her to the barn) and maybe scrape some of the grass/grease/dirt/oil... off of her. Maybe even clean her up underneath (daintily, of course), sharpen her blades, put some stabil in the gas tank, change the oil (or at least check the levels), tighten up the bolts, things like that, you know, spoil her a bit. Maybe even, *gasp* tighten up the handle so she won't have to sport the latest in binder twine necklaces! I could straighten the wheels a bit and pretty her all up, but you know what? It would be like washing my truck, her feelings would get all hurt and then she'd throw a fit in the spring. We can't have that now can we. So, unless I want to borrow some goats from a friend (wanna play, Joannie?), I'll just try to remember to get her in out of the snow and rain and make up with her next spring.

Sounds like a plan, and we all love The Plan! She's stayed true to her word (2 or 3 pulls on the string and a "vroom" happens) and since I never promised her anything but what she got, she doesn't complain!

What's that you ask? How do I know she's a girl? Come on, what guy would take all of that neglect and keep on going? ;-)

The Mouth Vs. The Mower!

Here in the Little Cabin In The North Woods we try really hard not to mix technology with blonde. Or at the very least we try to keep the power tools away from them.

There is an occasion, however, when we all need to hold our collective breaths, run for cover and pray to the gods for safety. This occasion happens roughly every other sunday during the summer, as evidenced by the following:

The Mouth grabs her sunglasses, cd player and a drink and sunscreen, and heads to the garage for that which we shall call the Bi-Weekly Mowing Of The Lawn.

Before you go and call CPS on me, its not a reel mower with no motor. It's not even a push mower but a riding mower and she expends about the same amount of energy mowing as she would laying out on the beach. It's not a 106 acre field, but about 1 acre of lawn.

But this day would be different.

First she would have to do the Dance Of The Dead Battery requiring a battery charger and, of course, accompanied by an appropriate amount of whining. (my girls all know how to do these most basic of things so she wasn't totally lost, she was just trying to get someone else to bail her out). After that little squirmish was won she commenced to do the riding thing while I pushed the hand mower around the edges. When I noticed her sitting there not doing anything I immediately assumed we needed major repairs such as a gas tank refill, but no. All she said is it's not cutting. Well I'll give her points for that, at least she didn't mow along happily, oblivious to the world around her, mowing the 57 acres (she'd like you to believe) and not actually accomplishing anything.

After determining that the PTO was not engaging, therefore the blades were not spinning, and after a phone call to my brother (hubby was unavailable) we were off again, but only for a bit when it quit again.

Ok, at this point we have exceeded my limited knowledge of how that stuff works so we'll go to plan b. She can do the edges with the weed whip. More whining ensues sprinkled with what can only be called blonde logic such as "Are you sure you want me to touch the weed whip thing. I might break that too? Besides that won't start either." Well, we did get that started and working but then the pizza drove in.

Pizza is standard fare after a morning of whining/mowing. Not much got done after that! But she did learn to check "belty thingies".