Michael Gravel Edmonton Writer

Lawn Care

First, you decide to do it. It’s not an easy choice. Other duties vie for your attention and energy. The sink-bound dishes present a menial distraction that doesn’t suit you in the moment. The dust rabbits will be there whether you act or not. Outside in the yard, the yellowtops and thick-bladed grass are making themselves known. It has been two weeks since you last fired up the gas beast and took down the green industry going on in your yard. The weed known as sod keeps a secret life of plotting and growing. It doesn’t care about your other work. It simply does its thing and waits to be mowed.

You check the gas beast for the third time this year. She has that faint gasoline smell that reminds you of your grandfather’s workshop – the one where he fixed your bike and welded pipes and bars together. The oil needs to be changed so you drain and pour. Gas is a little low. The red jerrycan that belonged to your father sits in the corner, its nozzle blackened from that fire years ago. You pour slowly so the small tank doesn’t over fill. The wheels need an adjustment and tightening. Your 3/8” wrench gets hauled out for the first time this year. It’s got a gear oil sheen from your old job.

The beast starts with a mildly bitchy pull, choking a bit of blue smoke into the Sunday maw. Settles into a nice rhythm and begins to swath. You make parallel, mathematical lines of cut. You get as close to the edges of things as possible. You duck around the new apple tree, the one that your friends planted for you last fall. The neighbour’s lilacs have turned brown but the foliage is still green.

Your sidewalk is in a state of disrepair. Some day soon you will be mixing concrete by hand. Perhaps you will scratch your initials into the gray paste. Their permanence will be challenged by the creeping grass. It threatens everything, it seems.

Entry #92 · June 17, 2008 in