To this day I love that fresh green smell of newly clipped grass. I think that’s why the whole wheat grass juice craze appealed to me back in the day. It was the flavor of fresh mown lawn.
I remember when we lived in the Junction City house we eventually had the use of a John Deere riding lawn mower to use to cut the grass. (Not that any of us kids hadn’t already done our time pushing a push mower before. I even recall pushing one of those old non-electric lawn mowers–I think they are called reel or push reel mowers a few times.) Dad would often hire out us kids to take a turn mowing the lawn at his work–Fischer Implement Store in Harrisburg. That was a nice neat square lawn and much easier to mow than our backyard, which contained a number of tall fruit trees to circle around.
The mowing part is fun. As long as I can mulch the grass. I have mixed feelings about messily digging my hands through the warm sticky sweet wet clippings every time I have to change the bag.
I used to be afraid of killing the engine when I had negotiate choke and throttle. Looking back, I’m sure it was simply the risk of not being competent to which I am to this day adverse.
A sidestep is on order to steer clear of another, less positive path. Instead I will flashback to the image of every child at one age or another pushing a colorful plastic bubble lawnmower down the same lawns we painstakingly trimmed summer after summer after summer.
If grass clippings were bubbles…
[Day 168 of Ann Dee Ellis’ 8-Minute Memoir.]