I cut grass weekly on my deep orange coloured riding lawnmower. My Kubota cost me a small fortune. But it delivers what I expect it to and more. You might as well know the truth. I clear land with it. In other words, living in the country affords me the pleasure to cut to my heart’s content.
The little monster arrived on my mother’s lot about six years ago. It wasn’t the model I really wanted, but it was really all I needed to do the job. Mum had only one acre to cut. Not much when your eyes are big and there’s tall grasses on all sides of your sparse acreage. Consequently, the ditch looked a disgrace. Once I got my mower in gear, it now looks so clean and tidy. A blue spruce acorn nestled in the ground from years before, I presume. Blown there from my parent’s yard, and exposed to the proper conditions, I noticed it in time before I cut it into shreds.
Just a wee little tree then, I pulled weeds around it and made sure that every time I cut the grass in the ditch, I would not touch it. It is still there and doing so well. I believe it is a Colorado blue spruce. But don’t try to get close enough to pat those soft looking branches. Its needles, tough and pointed, will cause you pain. Once I cleared about twenty to twenty-five feet facing the bushes and about one hundred and fifty yards along the pavement, it looked much more inviting. Not satisfied with that accomplishment, I began clearing a foot or so on every side of the yard every week for a time. Now one side lot has been sold, and the other, already owned by government housing, didn’t bother to cut all of theirs. So I cleared some of it as well as a piece on the south side of our home. Now I have about two acres to cut. Whoopee!
One problem I’ve had to learn to contend with in this part of the land – we are talking the Stone Age here – is multiplying stones. Have you ever heard of that before? Yesterday, one section is clear. The day I am cutting, stones pop out of the ground. Tops of huge, massive ones and a great smattering of smaller ones. Hitting them with the blades of the lawnmower is something comparable to a student’s fingernails screeching against a blackboard. Yikes!!! I’ve scraped against so many stones, which inevitably keep’s the Kubota business in business. Three new blades required each season or is it twice a season?
People in town bump into me once in a while and tell me, “That is not good for your lawn mower, you know? Avoid the stones.” I’m no dumb blonde. In fact, brunette is my colour except white has pretty much taken over. Perhaps if I could predict the stones will be popping up, I could avoid them before the horrific sound of metal against stone screeches and a blush heats my cheeks and the thought nags at me, ‘Too late, now. I wish I would have seen that one in time.’ In the meanwhile, I have barely escaped another one in my path.