I feel all manly when I mow the lawn.
Once the weeds hit mid-calf in the spring, I know it’s time to wrangle the lawn mower out of the garage, kick the tires, and rev that puppy. I’d like a push mower so I can feel even heartier and eco-friendly, but the house came with a mower, so I wield it, happy it’s not snow I’m blowing out of the way. I have old sandals I keep for mowing, but my feet still get all green and grassy, part of the charm.
The growth in our yard can hardly be called grass, but it’s nice nonetheless to mow it in orderly stripes. While my front yard will never resemble Fenway or a golf course (watering the lawn feels ridiculous and wasteful), it’ll do. Plus, it’s satisfying to mow down anything that gets in the way. Except for the random violet that crops up in the most inopportune spot. Hello fragile violet.
And with a yard sale scheduled for Saturday, we can’t be losing items—or shoppers—in the weeds.