Knowing when it’s time for a trim

“Mowing the lawn, because man is the only animal on the planet that plants, fertilizes, and waters a weed that he has to spend his weekend cutting.”

— Internet humor

“You got a haircut,” one of the ladies at church complimented me Sunday. 

“Sure did,” I acknowledged. “Just so happens Boyd’s Barber Shop had one left Saturday. Almost ran out before I got there, though.”

Her thoughts were very nice and much appreciated. The statement also started me thinking about how I use the same criteria to know when I need a haircut that I do to know when It’s time to mow the grass. Whether looking in the mirror or out the window at the yard, it always starts out, “That’s gonna need trimming before long.” And it usually ends with, “Mmm, I shoulda done that a couple of weeks ago.”

Both situations approached that pinnacle last Saturday morning when I finally headed to the barbershop before it was back home to drag out the dreaded lawnmower.

I’ve always wondered who said it first. “Hey, I think I’ll cut that green stuff growing out there in the yard instead of just letting it grow.” Whatever the logic, manicured lawns have remained a curse to people like me. Those who would be happy to have our yards declared a natural wilderness area.

I remember a Spring not so long ago. Wondering who would break the winter silence. Be the first one on the block to fire up a lawnmower and set an example for the rest of the neighborhood. 

For the record, it was never me. 

However, I did earn “Yard of the Month” once from the local garden club. Caught me off guard. Tried my best to convince the ladies they had the wrong address. Neighbors accused me of creating a hoax. 

It was true, though. I have pictures to prove it.

The fun began to fade, however, about the time social security checks started coming. I still do my own yard, however, and still have everything it takes to make it through another lawn care season. Mowers, edgers, rakes, trimmers, fertilizer, Bengay, aspirin, band-aids, and a good chiropractor.

“Hire a lawn service,” they said. Tried that. While doing it myself may take more effort than it used to, I sometimes still enjoy that feeling of satisfaction from backing off and seeing how nice it looks when it’s finished.

Almost makes me forget how much effort it often takes to start the lawnmower, wondering what sort of punishment-oriented society invented and approved pulling on a rope to start something that is used for work.

Historians and “ologists” digging around eons from now, searching for clues of ancient society from the 21st century, will no doubt unearth many mysteries. One will most certainly be homo sapiens who evolved to have one arm longer than the other.

Perhaps these scientific searchers will surmise it resulted from countless hours of jerking the starter cord on hard-to-start lawnmowers. Or maybe they will accidentally stumble across an account of the kid who put his old mower in the front yard bearing a sign that read “Will trade for bicycle.” 

As the story goes, before long, a preacher walked by and stopped to look. 

“Run all right,” he asked? 

“Yes sir,” the boy assured him.

“Well son, it just so happens I have a bicycle I don’t ride anymore,” the preacher told him. “I’ll be back with it in ten minutes, so don’t let anyone else have it.”

Sure enough, he returned with the bike, they made a trade, and the parson pushed his new acquisition home. 

The lad was out riding his newly acquired bicycle later when he passed the parsonage where the preacher was yanking on the mower’s starter. “Hey sonny,” he called out. “This mower won’t start.”

“Sure it will,” the youngster responded, coasting over to the curb to stop. 

“I’ve pulled on that rope for an hour, and it never offered to start.”

“You have to cuss it,” the boy explained.

“Son,” the preacher said. “I’ve been a minister for 30 years. So, I wouldn’t know how to cuss.”

“Just keep pulling on that rope preacher,” the kid told him. “It’ll come to you.”

When Springtime came this year, it looked like mowing wouldn’t be an issue following Mother Nature’s hissy fits. Alternating droughts and Arctic blasts wiped out half of what I once called grass and most of the shrubbery in my yard. What I have left is a crop of weeds, dust, and landscaping that more closely resembles the aftermath of an atomic bombing than a yard of the month. 

And that was before the rains came. In torrents. And continued coming. In torrents. So, here I am again this week, struggling to get rid of shrub stubs that will never see any shade of green again, cranking on my cantankerous lawnmower, and thinking.

Wonder if that nice lady at church will notice I mowed my weeds.

—Leon Aldridge

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Aldridge columns are published in these Texas newspapers: The Center Light and Champion, the Mount Pleasant Tribune,  the Rosenberg Fort Bend Herald, the Taylor Press, the Alpine Avalanche, The Fort Stockton Pioneer, and The Monitor in Naples.

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