Call me Ishmael.

Heck, just call me bushed.

A few people

out there probably realized that I didn't have a column in last Wednesday's

paper. That is because I had just moved in to my very own house. By last

Wednesday we were almost all done unpacking and thoughts began to turn

to that big, green thing in the back of the house. Though it looked like

a lawn at first, after walking it and getting bitten by several hundred

varieties of insects I determined that it was actually a rainforest.

Someone would

have to tame that wild piece of land and, because chivalry is not dead

at my house and more because I have a better schedule than my wife, it

was my job to procure a lawnmower and start mowing. I purchased one of

those nifty manual lawnmowers from the 1950s because it is good for the

environment and doesn't have one of those strings you have to pull 800

times to get it to start. We put the lawnmower together on Thursday night

and it was decided that I would start mowing the lawn at my very own house

the following afternoon.

I got home

from work on Friday afternoon and changed into shorts and a t-shirt. I

lathered on the sunscreen, drank a big glass of water, put on my sunglasses

and headed out to break in my new lawnmower. It broke me in.

I exited the

garage and figured that I would start at the side of my house and work

my way back. Unfortunately, the lawn at the side of my house is on a hill.

I went down the hill with no problems, but pushing the lawnmower back

up the hill was almost impossible. I succeeded in going up and down the

hill a few times before my eyes were clouded with stinging sweat and my

lungs felt like they were going to burst. Who knew that I had moved into

a house on Mount Everest? I retreated inside for more water.

I knew I had

to change my plan of attack or I would be found face down and babbling

in my back yard. The lawn in the back was flat, so I decided to move into

the back yard. I also determined that I did not have to attack the lawn

and the lawnmower like football players hitting those pads that the coaches

ride. If I was going to survive the afternoon, I was going to have to

take it easy. Don't mow all the way across, mow in smaller laps. I actually

mowed for a good 10 minutes before I needed another glass of water and

a cool rag around my neck.

What a wonderful

way to spend the afternoon. I was light-headed from the strenuous activity

in the hot sun, ecstatically enjoying any flicker of a breeze that came

my way and communing with the creepy crawly nature that oozed out of patches

of lawn I just mowed over. After my next session of pushing the lawnmower

around a flat, shady part of my lawn, I took a seat on my back porch and

regained my breath.

I had switched

to Gatorade at this point, recooled my rag and dumped a small glass of

water over my head, which gave me a good 30 seconds of clarity before

evaporating and making the area I sat in more humid than it already was.

I started hearing

intermittent screaming. I relaxed after I discovered that it wasn't coming

from me but from somewhere out in the woods behind my house. It did not

sound like a human scream at all, more like a panicked animal like a pig

or some form of rodent. I followed the sound around from one side of the

woods to the other, all from the comfort of my porch, mind you. I still

could barely move. I was looking for an animal to come bolting out of

the woods followed by an enormous monster who would hopefully have really

sharp toenails that would cut my lawn as he chased his prey. Yes, I was

starting to go a little mad.

Instead, I

gazed up in the sky and saw a large bird, either an eagle or a hawk, circling

the back yard and screaming twice every 20 seconds or so. Now that I look

back, it might have been a vulture signalling his pals that there might

be some fresh meat soon. I returned to the lawn and made it down to the

hill in the back of the yard before deciding it was best for my health

if I stopped. The lawn was too large and the grass was too high to finish

at that point of the day.

My mother had

offered to give me her old electric lawn mower so I decided to call her

and tell her that we may need it. I was pretty disoriented at this point

and the last thing I needed to be doing was speaking to a sane human being.

Needless to say, 15 minutes later she had told me that they would bring

over the lawnmower that evening. Later that night I learned that if the

grass is too long, the electric lawnmower gets clogged very easily. That

and the plug tends to fall out unless it is tied in tightly. I called

it a night soon after.

I dedicated

most of Saturday morning to the front lawn, which went a bit easier. It

was very early though and the grass was still wet. The electric lawnmower

and the manual lawnmower are now both sitting patiently waiting for the

lawn to be mowed to a short enough length that they will be useful and

easier to use.

In summation,

I learned to never bite off more than you can chew when it comes to lawncare,

never mow the lawn in the dead heat of an August afternoon and never mow

in the morning when the grass is wet. The most important lesson I learned

from all of this was that I hate mowing the lawn more than anything else.

I think we need to buy a goat.

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