The Wild Wild Fescue
When I first arrived here in the primordial South End, I had a small garden and a smaller yard. The yard I mowed with one of those old push mowers with the spiral blades that worked fine on level land with no rocks. Rocks jammed that set of blades and I mean right now. So eventually we did like all sodbusters and homesteaders, we cleared land and moved stumps and expanded our gardens and lawn. A postage stamp parcel of grass grew into acreage and I put away that little push mower and bought a used gas powered one. Progress? Maybe, maybe not.
My neighbors all got big John Deere riders for their puny weed’nfeed lots. That, or they just call in the landscaping outfits and the Hispanics roll in for an hour and manicure the lawn, edge the walks, trim the hedge. Me, I’m still pushing a mower. Good exercise, if nothing else, plus I get to survey the hidden corners of all those gardens, watch all the bulbs come up, the flowers bloom, the shrubs grow and the trees turn color. It’s my job and I try my damndest to find something positive about it. Although I will admit I cheer the day when the summer drought browns the lawn and mowing ends until the monsoons start.
What I don’t like is working on those mowers. I’m what you call a shade tree mechanic. And that’s putting a positive spin on it. Shade shrub mechanic more like it. Take today. The spare mower has been giving me trouble since it got left in the shed of the house we bought next door. Last year I could make it start, barely, but it wouldn’t run long. This year I decided to let it know who’s boss. So I disassembled the air filter, took off the cowling to the carburetor and unscrewed the bowl that hides the float valve. I had no idea what I was looking for, but you never know, something might be loose or a hose is disconnected or there’s a snake dead in the electrical. Okay, I’m hoping for a miracle. It is, after all, Easter. My lawnmower might roll back the stone and rise from the dead. Why not?
When I loosened the bolt raw gas came out the bottom so naturally I began to hurry. I’m not all that handy going slow, but speeding it up, I dropped the bolt and the bolt fell into the engine area. I could just see it hiding through the gasoline waterfall so I grabbed a screwdriver and managed to wedge it tightly in its hidey hole. Gas spewed everywhere, obscenities flew and I beat that mower like an obstinate mule with my socket wrench. Then I beat it with a large crescent wrench and stabbed it with my screwdriver. All I needed was to spark the fumes and send the whole she-bang to hell and gone. Probably me too. I didn’t much care.
Why God, Why me?? I won’t go into detail, but an hour later I had the bolt back in my hand, back on the bowl, back on the mower. What a colossal waste of my precious time!! I could’ve been watching daytime TV or checking my e-mail for spam. Not that bathing in spilled gas isn’t my idea of a spring day.
I reassembled the little mower, dragged it off the potting table and let it hit the ground from four feet up, I mean, who cares? I have burned recalcitrant chainsaws and destroyed VCR’s and tossed CD players out second story windows. They may think they have won, but they are wrong. There will be no winners. And one will die. Mark one up for humankind.
But … when it comes to machinery, I am superstitious. Science seems preposterous to me in regard to my mechanical ability. I trust in luck. And in a certain sadism toward my metal compadres. So I poured gas in the tank, not because I was confident, but because you have to pull the starting cord one last time . You have to give the obstinate brute one last chance. It’s a code, even if unwritten. You must let the universe work things out and no, it doesn’t make sense and of course it does not a religion make. And because this is what must be done I pulled the starting cord and you can believe it or not, but that mower jumped right to life and kept on running.
Do I think I fixed it? Do I think next time I go to start it, it will? No, my friends, I might be superstitious, but I’m not a gullible idiot. I know my enemy and now it knows me. Today is Easter and my mower has Risen. Let’s leave it at that.
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