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Illustration by Drew Shannon
The ride-on lawn mower froze, stuck on the minuscule incline. I shifted the gear to a faster speed and wiggled my hips forward and back, trying to rock the machine forward. It did not work. It wouldn’t move and rain was coming.
“This acreage is too much for me,” I tell myself.
You see, it was a purchase for two. My girlfriend at the time had dreamed this dream along with me. We chose it together, for a life together. But she had left and now here I was alone, dealing with each thing the acreage threw at me.
From the beginning, there had been issues. I was using the riding mower in the first place because the trusty push mower had stopped working for no apparent reason. I did not have money to buy a new lawn mower. I had already paid for a new well, new septic tank, new hot-water heater and new refrigerator. The electrical had been upgraded. The insulation under the house still needed replacing thanks to country cats digging out a nice warm spot for themselves last winter. The fireplace flue had come apart. My ex kept raising concerns about carpenter ants and piles slowly sinking under the DIY additions. I craved a new bathtub. Et cetera, et cetera. A money pit, perhaps. But the little house was cute inside with nothing but windows looking out at preserved wetlands and lush greenery. From the kitchen table most mornings I watched deer nibble the clover as I drank my morning coffee. Moose had strolled through more than once. How could you not love this place? It might be a money pit, but it was my money pit. I wasn’t ready to give up just yet.
As a midlife, second-career student, I was pinching every penny I could. Life had given me much to be grateful for, but I felt overwhelmed nonetheless. What I did not have was extra money for lawn mowers or a partner to help.
The country way is to fix it yourself. But that requires know-how. Something I had even less of than money. Nonetheless, when the push mower stopped working I walked over to the Snake Shed (don’t ask), where the ride-on lived.
I sat on the seat, conjuring my knowledge from my driving a manual transmission. Press in the clutch. Shift into neutral to start. Pull open the black thing. Here we go! The big moment. Turn the key. Whrrrr Whrrr. The engine rolled beautifully, but no ignition.
Engine flooded. Battery weakened. Now it won’t do anything. Leave. Come back in half an hour. Try again.
It started! What’s this orange button? Pull it out. Engine dies.
Try again, this time leaving the orange button alone. Reverse out of the shed and onto the lawn. Driving around, yes. Mowing the lawn? No.
I looked behind me. Flattened tracks from the tires but no cut grass.
Why isn’t it cutting the grass?
Tears starting. I can’t do this.
Okay, think it through.
Lever on the left-hand side. Raise the blade. Lower the blade. No difference.
Why isn’t it working?
I got out my phone to text her. That is one of the benefits of staying friends with your ex, of preserving the good things about your bond even if coupledom didn’t work out. She told me about the orange button. It engages the blade for cutting.
But now the mower would not start again.
I came back first thing the next morning and it all came together. I mowed the front lawn. Patches were left unmowed – precision turns, my mower does not do. No worries. I could touch it up later.
But I was not long into the backyard when the uphill dilemma struck. When the doubt inside of me told me I could not do it; it was too much for me. It was for other people. People with money to buy all the newest toys, or to pay someone else to do the work for them. People who grew up DIY’ing and fixing mechanical things. People whose brains are more tuned to machinery than to symbolism and turns of phrase.
I need a partner who knows how to get the lawn mower going and how to fix both of them.
But, no, that is not what I needed. Each time a new challenge had arisen from this property, I had felt exactly the same as I did sitting, stalled in the middle of the backyard. Each time, the problem had been solvable. I had fixed the washing machine. It had taken an entire afternoon but now I knew how it worked and how to fix it. When the septic alarm went off, the septic company came out and patiently explained to me how the system worked. Now I knew how to fix that. I did not know it at the time, but in less than a week I would learn how to remove, clean and replace the spark plug in the push mower. This is how all those self-reliant country people did it: they dealt with each thing that arose and they shared that knowledge with each other. I am country folk, now. Pretty soon I would know how to deal with my ride-on mower.
Thus fortified by my own pep talk, a solution occurred to me: Perhaps the length of the grass was stalling the mower? I reached down for the left-hand side lever and raised the blades to their highest setting. Aha! Success! I began the grassy ascent again. At the top, I turned the steering wheel hard to the right and waited patiently for the slow, wide turn to execute. Back down the hill I went.
Picture perfect, no. But pretty darned good for today? Absolutely.
Carrie Woodworth lives in Edmonton.