Written by Michael Claxton
I thought you might like an update on my Adventures in Lawn Care. When last we saw our tragic hero, he was edging his yard with pinking shears and suffering the slings and arrows of neighborhood ridicule. Oh what a difference six months can make. With my own lawn mower, weed-eater, leaf-blower and plastic funnel, I am now one sleeveless shirt and utility trailer away from starting a yard service. But getting there wasn’t easy. You have no idea what I have been through.It all started three weeks ago when I awoke to the annual Saturday Landscape Symphony, as all the neighbors were cranking their mowers in concert. It was sunny and 70 degrees. Arkansas usually gets about 20 minutes of spring each year, and this was it. The ideal weather, mixed with the fear of being the Black Sheep of Live Oak Drive, started to work on my conscience. Then I remembered that the World’s Greatest Handyman was in town from Georgia for the week, and that sealed it.I headed for Lowe’s. Real men love this store – it is the place that helps them fix things. It is the store that sells suede tool belts. It is the Mecca of duct tape. You would not be surprised to see a real man beating his chest in the interior lighting aisle. I, on the other hand, who have often been complimented on my soft palms, always try to get in and out of this place and back to my office swivel chair as quickly as possible.So I bought my first lawn mower in all of 20 minutes. The salesman recommended the Troy-Bilt Model TB130. It came with a Honda engine, which is what everybody wants, he said. I nodded, wishing I had some tobacco juice to spit on the floor to indicate my approval. It was just the right machine for me, but later I was embarrassed to tell my cousin how little it cost. He used to run a Kubota dealership and feels that any mower under six grand was probably made by Fisher Price. Or Little Tikes. Anyway, this mower came in a box – ofcourse – so I called the WGH for help. While he was headed my way, I went to refill my plastic gas can. But when I put the full can in the trunk of my Toyota, I did not secure it. “I live less than a mile away,” I said. “What could happen?” It was the most masculine thing I had said so far that day.Have you ever tried to get the smell of leaked gasoline out of a trunk? I searched the house and found a tiny bottle of carpet cleaner I bought when I spilled some ink in North Carolina in 1995. When the WGH arrived and saw me using a 15-year-old spritzer on my trunk liner, he just shook his head.Within a half-hour my lawn mower was assembled, gassed, oiled, primed and ready to go. The last time he was in town, the WGH had fixed an old weed-eater that came with my house. I hadn’t used it yet, as I was waiting for someone to show me how. He carefully walked me through the steps: plug it in, squeeze the trigger. Now I really needed that Beech Nut chaw. So I faked a burp and started mowing.A few days after I cut the grass, I noticed an odd smell in my carport. Assuming it was my Eau de Texaco car cologne, I ignored it for the next three weeks. Men get accustomed to odd smells easily.This past Saturday I started to cut the grass again and finally isolated the odor.That’s when I discovered what happens to wet grass after three weeks in the underbelly of a lawn mower. It turns into weapons-grade plutonium. So on top of everything else, I am now on the Department of Homeland Security’s No-Fly List. Along with anyone who may have posed as me in the last two weeks. Sorry, Ardrey.In my defense, I had been warned to hose off the mower blade after every use. And in my defense, I did not listen. I am currently in the market for a better defense.It’s amazing how things come full circle.To scrape off the caked-on gunk, I had to get out the pinking shears again. But now the grass is cut, the edges are trimmed, the trunk is aired out, and I am one step closer to Yard of the Month. Or perhaps Most Improved. Given my unmanly yard competence, I’ll settle for Miss Congeniality.MICHAEL CLAXTON is a guest contributor for the Bison. He may be contacted atmclaxto1@harding.edu
