The ump of backyard mowing
Nothing quite says summer like that perfect combination of
sunshine and lawn mowing. The only thing better is when that warm afternoon
arrives on a freakishly warm spring day when the grass is lush and I hear those
magical words, “Go ahead, honey, you can mow the lawn.”
I love to mow. The headphones snug around my head, my
favorite tunes blasting in my ears, and the sound of the mower drowning out the
rest of the world. Besides the hum of
the blade spinning and the occasional vocal solo, it’s a perfectly peaceful
world behind the handle of that mower, and I enjoy every stripe as I pace up
and down the yard.
Unless it’s a freakishly warm day in spring.
As much as I love nature and backyard critters, I have a
strict leg rule that I adhere to, no matter what. In the past week I have rescued baby bunnies
and turtles as they partake in their vernal activities, but I draw the line at
snakes. Two legs, good. Four legs,
good. Six or even eight legs, good. No legs? No way.
I don’t particularly enjoy snakes, especially when I’m not
expecting them. Even less so when I’m
jamming away behind the mower and one decides to play long-grass-chicken and
test my reflexes by slithering right in the path of the spinning blade.
In the words of my neighbor who had just rounded the corner
of his garage, I suddenly went into spasms and there was loud shrieking where
the sound of the lawnmower once was. In my defense, it was a less than calm
display of attempting to save the life of the legless creature who decided to
dart into the path of certain death. Not
wanting to have to clean snake guts out of the inner workings of the blade, it
was truthfully with great stealth, precision, and slight hysterics that I
managed to save the life of that poor garter snake.
In fact, within the time span of 20 minutes, I had saved the
lives of two Kamikaze snakes who thought they were really funny. (As if they couldn’t see my perfectly
parallel stripes and know what was coming.) Twice, the zen of my grass cutting
afternoon was interrupted by these tormenting reptiles who I’m sure were
laughing at me as they wiggled away into the safety of the brush while I paced
around and patted my chest and took deep breaths.
“Do you want me to finish mowing?” my husband asked.
“No, I can do it,” I replied, mustering the strength to
combat the 18-inch long beasts while I hid behind a machine strong enough to
tear each scale from scale.
“But that was two snakes in just a short bit of time. You
know what they say, ‘three snakes and I’m out.
And never mowing again.’”
Originally written/published 4.19.15.
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