The Lawn Goodbye

 

Unlike many, I've never really been into cold pizza. 

I was going to order delivery tonight since we won't be around many more nights here for dinner, though one never knows if we'll come back I suppose.

Still, I saw the frozen pizzas I'd bought at Wegman's last week and I figured I should save a few bucks.

So I began cooking.

I told Alexa to set me a timer for 20 minutes.

In the meantime, my neighbor, John, was lingering outside. Only yesterday had he stopped by, yelling out "sir" to me and then asking about the tractor I'd just placed in the front yard. 

John is new to the neighborhood -- two months, maybe -- and he explained that my asking price was a little high for him since he and his family have a mortgage now.

Look, I'm not a tough negotiator. The tractor was sold to me just after mom died (long story) and was supposed to need a battery. That battery was supposed to be installed "the next day."

Nope. Nor the day after that.

In fact, it never happened.

John made his offer to me and, honestly, it was half of what I was asking. I was trying to get $50 over what I paid for the tractor when it was dropped off back in 2020. It had a new engine in it and I figured I'd shoot my shot.

I accepted John's offer but wouldn't go any farther until we knew it ran. Keep in mind, if I couldn't sell it I'd have to get rid of it somehow. Our instruction from our lawyer was "make sure the house is empty" and I'm doing everything to honor that.

John was trying to install a battery as I made the pizza. However, he didn't know that.

As the seconds counted down I heard an engine fire.

"Son of a..." I said, pleased that he got it to start and shocked that we might actually have a deal.

John got it to start. It stalled. Start. Stop.

Then? It started and he drove away.

That's when I saw him walking up the driveway. I went out and met him. 

"I don't know how to actually engage the blade and mow the lawn," he said.

Shockingly, I did, as this was similar to the model Mom had since the late 1990s.

Remember, I mowed this lawn on and off (mostly on) from 1980 until this year. As far as I knew, I'd never mow it again and it was looking ragged.

I was embarrassed but there wasn't much I could do.

So, I got in the seat.

I started the engine.

It stalled.

Yikes.

I started it a few times and engaged the blade only to have it stall out.

Then, after a few adjustments, it took off.

I did a few laps on the old lawn -- for old time's sake -- and headed back towards him when he windmilled his finger at me. 

So, thinking he wanted me to do a little more and make sure it worked, I complied.

A few minutes went by before I drove it back to him.

He handed me the money.

"Do you want to mow your lawn?" he asked.

I was flabbergasted. Yes. Let's go with that.

Also touched but I couldn't show it. It was like a hand reached down and said, "Do it one more time."

All this. Over a lawn. What is wrong with me?

But this was more than a lawn. It was a baseball field and a football field and "roads" on grass and a golf range and a place where we once had horses in the front yard (yes, seriously) and so many other things.

This was one thing I could actually do. I could cut a lawn. When my father taught me how to use the push mower in the summer of 1980, my simple role was to do the trimming. That was the grass that he couldn't cut with his Gravely.

The tractor that he called "George Harrison."

The tractor that I rode with him as a little kid.

The tractor that I eventually learned to drive after he died.

John walked away as I began, beyond grateful for this likely final chance to make things right with the lawn

But, first, I put the brake on.

I raced back into the house and took the pizza -- slightly burnt -- out of the oven.

Then, I returned to the tractor.

I began to enjoy this beautiful moment. It was like a scene out of a movie. An orchestra was playing. Or maybe it was Kenny Loggins. 

Whatever it was, the tape soon switched speeds and slowed down. 

After a few minutes, the tractor wouldn't move. I put it in gear. Nothing.

The deal would be off. How could I justify selling it to him?

I kneeled on the road and looked underneath. A belt had come loose.

OK, I thought. Not fatal.

Still, could I -- ME -- put it back?

I stretched. I pulled. I groaned. I grunted.

"Come on," I snapped. "Don't give up." I think I was talking to myself.

I got it.

It was like the Fonzie had hit the jukebox and the music came back on.

It wasn't long before I'd mowed as much of it as I could and it was glorious.

I won't deny the presence of a lump in the throat or a tear on a cheek as I rolled along.

I mowed the front yard a second time -- at a lower setting -- almost not wanting the moment to end.

But, end it would need to. I thought to myself that if anyone wanted me to come back and mow this lawn in the future, I'd actually consider it.

There's such history there. My history. This block's history. My family's history.

In the end, I drove the tractor across the street to John's, parked it, and walked away, beaming at the fresh cut.

It wasn't perfect. There was dead grass everywhere. It didn't matter.

My pride was saved. Oh, sure, the grass would be high by the time the new owners arrived next Wednesday but I'd done my part.

I went in and grabbed my now lukewarm pizza and began to write.

Then? John was back at the door.

"I want to buy your snowblower."

There is good in this world.