As I mowed the lawn yesterday, perched atop the seat of a John Deere mower, I pondered the lawn mowing days of old. As I recall, on the farm I grew up on, only the area in front of the house got mowed. That faced the old gravel road that graced the country sides in those days. Ma had a flower garden as long as the yard, and it was down near the road. I would estimate it was about 4 feet wide, and she grew things like asters and bachelor buttons. The center of that flower garden held a climbing rose bush that was her pride and joy. Someone took a picture of Ma and me kneeling in front of that rose bush when it was in full bloom. Of course, as was the normal in that time, the picture is black and white, so the red blossoms can’t be seen in all their glory, but there is no doubt that Ma had a green thumb. I remember mowing around it, pushing a push mower where all the power was provided by me. I kind of liked that push mower, although I often had to go over the same area more than once as the dull blades didn’t always cut the grass with the first try. What I mowed, I usually raked up to feed to the cattle. The yard on the other side of the house was usually trampled down, as my brothers and I would play baseball there, or machinery was parked there to pack it down. On the south side of the house, that grass was usually burned off in the spring, and I can remember the fire getting away a time or two, and my frantic parents would be running around with water and rakes to tamp it down. The yard to the north of the house had the driveway and the pathway down to the barn and chicken coop. It was downhill from the house and made for good sledding in the winter. Once I was out on my own, I was pushing a lawn mower again. It seems that push mower was destined to follow me at least for a time. One day my oldest son was pushing it, and the second oldest fell into it with his hand; the tip of one finger was cut off. That led to one of many trips to the emergency room as they were growing up. It was time to get rid of the mower then and get a push one with engine; one that the children were not allowed to use. Those were the days of my first widowhood, when I spaded over my own vegetable garden and even had enough energy to spade over a small flowerbed out front. It was fun when my kids tried to help me weed. Sometimes I think they pulled up more carrots then weeds, but they were trying. After farmer husband and I got married, it was more mowing with a push mower with an engine. It was even self-propelled. Eventually we got a John Deere riding mower and, although it must be at least 20 years old, it is still working. I had sold it to a friend of one of my sons, and he used it, and then last year sold it back to my son, so I know it’s working. In the olden days of mowing, any grass that couldn’t be reached with a mower had to be clipped with a grass clipper. Then the weed eaters were born. My weed eater works fine, however it has been loaned out, so yesterday I got out the grass clippers and clipped the tall grass away from my flower bed. Now I can see the plants that have come up from the bulbs I planted. There is nothing better than a hot summer day, spent on a riding lawn mower, and letting my mind wander to other days and times.
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