I do some of my best thinking on the lawn mower.
As our nearly 20-year-old John Deere lumbers along, slicing through blades of grass and spitting them out, my mind cycles through thought after thought on topic after topic in an almost identically rhythmic fashion.
Many people dread mowing their yard. Most of the time, I do not. (There is the occasional schedule jam when mowing is just one job too many with everything else that is going on in my life.)
Sometimes, driving the mower can be downright therapeutic as a welcome distraction from other concerns.
From the time I turn the key to crank it and begin setting the machine in motion, I am king of my world (that is, roughly 1 acre, give or take).
With every press of the gas pedal and turn of the squeaky steering wheel, I get instant gratification for my efforts and see progression toward a freshly mowed lawn.
Usually, I am not thinking about that. Most often, my mind is on something else, whether work- or home-related, or just one of a countless number of memories that flood my mind with little to no prodding.
Occasionally while I am mowing, I think about older times, pushing a mower around my parents’ lawn or one of several other yards in the neighborhood that I cut as a part-time summer job to earn extra spending money.
I also recall the times when I thoughtlessly (and, I might add, stupidly) drove lawn mowers — they were Western Auto Wizard models back then — with blades engaged while son Brandon or daughter Kelsey sat on my knee.
We had a lot of fun talking, giggling and singing — “She’ll Be Coming Around the Mountain” was a particular favorite — while the red or silver Wizard, depending on the year, was doing the work.
There were no incidents (thank the Lord!), but when I look back with the advantage of 25-plus years of extra maturity, common sense and (hopefully) wisdom, I see how dangerous it was. As my daddy used to say, God watches over children and fools, myself, of course, being the latter.
Today, I would not dare mow the yard with any of the grandchildren onboard. I might give them a joy ride or a driving lesson while sitting with me on the mower, but I would never cut grass at the same time.
Often while mowing, I think of work topics and try to solve a taxing issue or figure out a way around it. I have cooked up some pretty good newspaper projects or story ideas while at the steering wheel of a riding lawn mower.
Sometimes as I’m motoring along, I will observe things around the house or yard that need tending, and work out in my head just how I am going to get it done. Unfortunately, all too often, those well-thought-out plans don’t make it off the lawn mower with me.
On occasion, you might find me wearing earbuds while mowing as I listen to a ballgame or music via iPhone Bluetooth. (Back in the day, I would sport my big earmuff-looking headphones featuring built-in AM/FM radio reception and a pull-out antenna — very chic for the time.)
If I’m not listening to music as I mow, I’ll be making music with my God-given built-in instrumentation.
My father whistled a tune practically everywhere he went, and I have found myself doing likewise, even whistling, no doubt to the dismay of others, in public places increasingly as I age. (Workers at the Charleston Post Office can attest to this.)
Many times off the lawn mower, I do not even realize that I am whistling — until wife Krista gets her fill and reminds me. For some reason, she is not a big fan. But that is another story.
Besides, from my perch on the lawn mower, I doubt anyone can hear me whistling over the loud roar of the motor. And that is just how it should be. I whistle for myself, not for anyone else — except occasionally for the grandkids, who seem to be fascinated by the talent.
As I traverse my kingdom during the roughly two or so hours that it takes to mow the lawn, I am virtually alone, in my own world.
Out there, my thoughts, my memories, are practically uninterrupted.
