Most people declare yardwork as an exhausting and gruesome chore; something that nobody enjoys doing, but it must be finished anyway. I, however, find mowing lawns just as relaxing as care-free as some people would consider sun-bathing on an empty Pacific island, thousands of miles off the coast of a foreign country.
Ever since I was old enough to walk and swim, I aspired to mow my family’s two-acre lawn. I watched every week as my mom handed over twenty dollars to my unworthy older cousin, the cousin who simply drove around on the old riding lawnmower, creating funny patterns in our already-browning Bermuda grass every Sunday. That money should have been mind, and when Larry finally went off to college, it became my turn. Cutting the grass started out as just a way to past time and earn some extra cash for the summer; who would’ve guessed that it would become my passion and the place where most of my thinking took place?
My mind is always racing, no matter where I go. It’s just constantly interrupted by crowds, my relatives, friends, or work that has to be completed by four. But on the family’s riding lawnmower, I’m free to wonder. All I have to do is stick my iPod earphones in, signaling to “Be quiet, I’m busy!” and I’m isolated from the rest of the world. As I ride, I can consider career options, create the script for a future Academy-award winning motion picture, dream of wedding plans, or even sing along with the song currently ringing in my ear. I usually don’t sing aloud, only because the coyotes will start to howl and glasses would shake, but I do love to. It’s great to sing on the lawnmower because no matter how loud I get, the blades and engine drain my repulsive voice out, so only I can hear myself. Not only is this good for me, but for my family too. Now they
don’t have to cover their ears or turn up their tunes as they walk up the stairs towards my room, but just keep inside on yardwork days, and don’t offer to help me complete my chore.