This was the only "column" that was ever sent out. It was written specifically to be a column, and to have the humor that was in both the sailing and plumbing stories. I don't think it succeeded quite as well, but then the subject isn't quite as much fun, either.
Make no mistake -- I *hate* to mow lawns. I've hated mowing lawns since I worked incessantly to get out of lawn mowing when I was about ten.
At least when I was ten, I had a good reason. The lawn mower my family had was old even for the time. Instead of a handle that you pulled to start the engine, this mower used a rope. You tied a knot in one end of the rope, then placed the knot in a little slot and then wound the rope around a cylinder. Then you pulled, and hoped that the engine started. When it didn't start, you had to again wind the rope and pull. There were days when I spent hours trying to get the mower started.
In reality, the actual mowing part wasn't so bad, and probably didn't take much more than an hour for the whole lawn. I remember enjoying making different and interesting patterns in the way I mowed the lawn. Circles, diagonals, spirals, and concentric squares all graced our lawn at one time or another.
But I still hated lawn mowing with a passion, and I swore I'd never mow my own lawn as an adult. Further, somewhere along the line I decided to delegate *all* outdoor chores to someone else. My reasoning must have been that if a thing had anything to do with the yard, it fell into a general category called "lawn mowing", and I had every intention of refusing to take any responsibility for "lawn mowing".
Even if "lawn mowing" was really raking leaves.
The strange part about all this is that now that I've been forced into the role of caring for my sadly neglected lawn, I'm beginning to find I enjoy it. Enjoy it a little, at least. I'm not one who cares about having a perfect yard, and in fact, my real work this year has been on the back yard, unseeable by any but those friends who come to my house.
I enjoy the process of taking an uncared for area of the yard and working just a bit to make it again be a nice place to see and live around. I enjoy it in the same vague way I enjoy cleaning -- it's not much fun while you're doing it, but it feels awful good to stop. To stop, and to have that feeling of a small bite of accomplishment.
My yard won't ever win awards, at least not with garden societies. In fact the one regret I have in doing the sort of yard work I've been doing is that I feel I'm making it a less pleasant habitat for the many, many, animals that enjoy my yard. I have chipmunks, at least one rabbit, and birds galore, including three mating pairs of cardinals, a pair or mourning doves, bluejays, and many more I can't identify as anything other than "sparrow". And I've been told they aren't all sparrows.
And the unhappy looking barbecue grill, full of water, which has sat on the patio throughout the winter, has continually provided both drinking and bath water for those numerous birds. It doesn't look pretty, but they don't seem to mind. Even the squirrels (forgot to mention the large squirrel population that also abounds) seem to use it for drinking water occasionally.
So I guess it's good that I'm not truly enamored of yard puttering. I'd rather sit on my porch playing guitar and watching all the wild creatures that have chosen my yard as a place to live and grow. But I don't mind doing just enough work so the house doesn't look abandoned, either.
Heck, I think I'll even mow my own lawn this year. I'll still hate it, (even if I don't), but I'll tell everyone I'm doing it for exercise. No one could ever suspect there might be some joy there. After all, *I'd* never exercise for fun. I hate exercise as much as I hate yard work.