Mowing the grass

Earlier today my neighbor’s kid asked me why I mow my own lawn. “We just have someone who does it,” the tyke said.

I nodded.

Why do I mow my own lawn? Because I believe in doing things for myself. Because I love the smell of freshly cut grass. Because the local lawn guys charges $120 per month. Because it’s a wonderful thing to do on a sunny spring day, as the laughter of kids swirls around you. Because there’s something (I find a tad) rugged about the endeavor. Because I love when you start, and the grass looks like crap, and you finish and it looks wonderful.

Because I can.

We live in an era where too many people rely on too many other people to handle their shit. We, as a people, hire people to raise our children, prepare our meals, make out beds, invest our money, etc … etc. Sometimes I think the goal is to escape the monotony—we say we want children, but when the day-to-day agony arrives, we turn elsewhere. Same with a lawn.

So I mow.