I want to mow my own lawn.
I've been dreaming of a garden for over a decade and now that I finally have property, I want to maintain ALL of it. Every rock and weed. So, the men who were mowing the lawn, who continued mowing the lawn after I bought it, like some old hereditary serfs, had to go.
Well, to excuse my heartless letting-go of hard working men in this economy, the lawn hadn't had more than a mow and a trim in YEARS. It was 75 percent serge, dandelion, and some other noxious weed I couldn't identify, and just a little bit of grass. The grass was hanging on for dear life. So I organically fertilized and then began weeding and reseeding by hand. A foot at a time.
The lawn men kept mowing everything. The new seed, the old weeds. I couldn't identify and pull the weeds, and my newly seeded grass was doomed. So that was part of the reason.
I'll bet they laugh at me now. The lawn is now great huge spots of brown recently seeded fertized ground, remaining serge, and foot long grass. I'll bet they drive by and make disgusted noises and think 'serves that mean b**** right' when they see it. It looks like the pelt of some great green molting animal.
I've got a lawn mower. I bought it new. I read the manual cover to cover. And I can't start it. I thought it was because of something I didn't put together correctly. Or some basic misunderstanding about the mechanics of the thing, but I finally stooped to ask a young man for help. And he started it right away.
I mowed for a bit and then aggravated the machine in some way and it gave a great 'POP' and died. I was too embarrassed to ask the young man again, so here I am with a half mowed lawn, weeds, lumps of fertilized as yet ungrown patches. And a brand new shiny orange lawn mower.
This is my mother's fault. Or my father's. I give them both equal responsibility for never teaching me this simple task. I learned to cook, and iron and clean. I can, resentfully but adequately, feed a room full of hungry men if necessary.
But I can't mow the damned lawn. That was my brother's job. That and taking out the trash. I HAVE mastered that manly task, at least.
Alright it's nobody's fault but my own. I like the idea of machines. The plans and instructions. I love computers. Clean, transistors and mother boards and neat little cables and stuff. But oily greasy hot things with metal parts and rows and rows of DANGER in the instructions just never turned my crank.
I don't like to maintain my automobile either.
I hang my head in shame. I am a lousy feminist.
With an ugly lawn.
I've been dreaming of a garden for over a decade and now that I finally have property, I want to maintain ALL of it. Every rock and weed. So, the men who were mowing the lawn, who continued mowing the lawn after I bought it, like some old hereditary serfs, had to go.
Well, to excuse my heartless letting-go of hard working men in this economy, the lawn hadn't had more than a mow and a trim in YEARS. It was 75 percent serge, dandelion, and some other noxious weed I couldn't identify, and just a little bit of grass. The grass was hanging on for dear life. So I organically fertilized and then began weeding and reseeding by hand. A foot at a time.
The lawn men kept mowing everything. The new seed, the old weeds. I couldn't identify and pull the weeds, and my newly seeded grass was doomed. So that was part of the reason.
I'll bet they laugh at me now. The lawn is now great huge spots of brown recently seeded fertized ground, remaining serge, and foot long grass. I'll bet they drive by and make disgusted noises and think 'serves that mean b**** right' when they see it. It looks like the pelt of some great green molting animal.
I've got a lawn mower. I bought it new. I read the manual cover to cover. And I can't start it. I thought it was because of something I didn't put together correctly. Or some basic misunderstanding about the mechanics of the thing, but I finally stooped to ask a young man for help. And he started it right away.
I mowed for a bit and then aggravated the machine in some way and it gave a great 'POP' and died. I was too embarrassed to ask the young man again, so here I am with a half mowed lawn, weeds, lumps of fertilized as yet ungrown patches. And a brand new shiny orange lawn mower.
This is my mother's fault. Or my father's. I give them both equal responsibility for never teaching me this simple task. I learned to cook, and iron and clean. I can, resentfully but adequately, feed a room full of hungry men if necessary.
But I can't mow the damned lawn. That was my brother's job. That and taking out the trash. I HAVE mastered that manly task, at least.
Alright it's nobody's fault but my own. I like the idea of machines. The plans and instructions. I love computers. Clean, transistors and mother boards and neat little cables and stuff. But oily greasy hot things with metal parts and rows and rows of DANGER in the instructions just never turned my crank.
I don't like to maintain my automobile either.
I hang my head in shame. I am a lousy feminist.
With an ugly lawn.
