The intricacies of mowing a yard

In all the hustle of buying a house and getting moved, I've suddenly come to an embarrassing realization.

I know nothing about running a lawnmower.

Oh, sure, laugh. A farm girl who can't even start a lawnmower. I know, it sounds ridiculous, but I do have a great excuse--my mother.

You see, it all started in 1985 when my older brother, James, was delegated to mow our lawn, and somehow managed to run right over a little bitty tree sapling Mom was struggling to keep alive. I'm not saying he wasn't paying attention, or that he was trying to rush through the job, merely that one minute a live sapling was straining toward the sky and the next it was mulch.

From the moment Mom's screeches died down, until this very day, she's never let anyone but herself near the mower.

She wouldn't let my older sister mow her yard, and honestly she's the most responsible of us three children. If any of us had a chance to break the cycle it should have been Joni, with her precision and attention to detail. But, Joni had to learn how to mow a lawn from our grandfather--a man who's only passions in his retired life were fishing, baseball, and his lawn. Seriously, he could tell if his lawn needed more or less water just by sniffing the air. He didn't just have a yard, he had an obsession, and yet he still trusted a grandchild to mow it for him.

My father didn't have any better luck in trying to take over the mowing chores. Instead, he was relegated to pit crew duty, sharpening mower blades, refilling fuel, and ensuring equipment performance. Granted, I'm not sure he tried very hard to take on the task. Seems I recall every time there was mowing work to be done he'd find some farm excuse to get out of it.

"Sorry dear, can't today, I've got that wheat ground to cut."

"Nope, can't mow now, I've got to bring in those bales off the alfalfa."

"Um, mowing? Hmm, can't that wait? I've got to, uh, fix some fence. Yeah, I've got to go fix fence."

And after the sapling incident, even my brother knew better than to ask to mow the yard.

As for me? Well, I tried to have Mom teach me to mow, but it was no use. By the time I was old enough for the responsibility she'd been accustomed to the job and was reluctant to share. Instead, I got rake duty.

My mother just truly likes to mow a yard. I suppose it's her version of Zen gardening and meditation. Personally, I don't get what the big fuss is all about. Surely there can't be a lot to mowing a yard. Afterall, a lawn mower is just a smaller scale swather, right?

And, if Dad never had any qualms about putting any one of his children in a piece of expensive harvesting equipment , why should Mom be so territorial about her yard?

For Pete's sake, I write for a farm publication and I do not know how to take care of my own patch of urban agriculture. I have a degree in agriculture from an agricultural university and I can't mow a yard. I can talk to a farmer about his prairie hay crop, or trade stories about cutting alfalfa, but start discussing clipping height and mower mechanics and I'm lost.

All this means that I need to A) buy a lawnmower and sign up for a class or B) hire the job out to some poor kid for the summer.

I think I'll choose B.

Afterall, I wouldn't want to be responsible for another generation growing up without the proper lawn mowing expertise, now would I?

Jennifer M. Latzke can be reached by phone at 620-227-1807, or by e-mail at jlatzke@hpj.com.

8/6/07

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