If there's one thing in life that gets me moist it’s a well mown lawn. Not just a freshly mown lawn mind you because any bugger can run a mower over the lawn, but to cross hatch it or chequerboard the sucker, now that takes class.
It must be a boy thing because my wife doesn't get my appreciation for just such an occasion. On the few times she's run the mower over ours she's made it look like a state house effort. You know that look; strips in all directions, uneven cuts, missed bits and the inevitable burn make left when the ground was too close to the blade and dirt got cut, not grass.
Back when I was a lad we lived in a state house and it had a massive lawn. But because it was a Statey it also had fucked up things like concrete drains running through the back yard and a big concrete slab where the old shed used to be. There was also this massive pie of loose metal slap back in the middle of quite possibly the best cricket pitch that side of a real one. Why the pile was there in the first place or why it never got moved was a mystery to me. You could certainly bowl over it no problem, but no batsman ever took a cheeky single on that pitch.
We also had this split tiered bank think going on up the back of our yard, near the bush, which looked as though someone had started excavating the entire property before deciding 'Fuck it, this is only going to be a Statey’ and promptly gave up on the project completely. It was great for jumping the 'ol HMX off but bugger all else, so understandably it made mowing the lawns a chore and a half, but I didn't see it that way.
I took my time in mowing that lawn seven ways into Sunday. I'd stop after each row and adjust the level of the chassis by just a nib so that I got a real cross hatch look to my rows. In the long wet bits - and there were always long wet bits in a Statey - I'd start high and finish low so as not to clog the blade. And I never ever left a blade burn, even on the uneven, bumpy bits around that pile of bloody annoying loose metal.
Yes, it would take hours but then so did the Samoan boys up the street that had to cut theirs with machetes. Machete Day was always Sunday, after church and I always reckoned that you would have had to be religious in order to maintain sanity whilst hacking away with a hand made, hand held blade.
Their place was at the top of our grove and their front lawn dropped down at a 45 degree angle, which made grip an issue especially given that their two storey Statey blocked out the sun from ever hitting their front lawn after midday and they were cutting the lawn, with machetes, whilst barefoot. Accordingly none of the brothers dare start at the bottom least one of the older boys up the top slipped and tumbled down in an uncontrollable ball of afro and 'chete.
I once asked my mate Dennis were they got the machetes from. He told me that his parents had bought them with them from Samoa, back in the days I suppose when you could tuck a two foot machete in your carry on luggage and no one gave a toss.
My mate Bruiser was a turf connoisseur too. His front lawn was about the same floor area as most men’s toilets but my god did he know how to make it look as big (and as impressive) as Athletic Park. He was always mixing it up too; chequer board, alternating strips, centre circle ripples, man that stuff was the shit. We weren't at that stage of life back then but had we been, I suspect both of us would have stood inside at the window afterwards and had a big 'ol wank over our respective mowed lawns.
My Grandfather knew how to pull off a good lawn and he had a mower like all groundsman used to use back before the invention of tractor pulled or ride on lawn mowers. This thing not only cut the grass but it pushed what was left over so that when you came back the other way it created a different visual affect; one light strip, one dark strip but both cut at the same height. Genius! It’s a look replicated today but with half the effort and absolutely no hard on value for the guy doing it.
So think about that the next time you begrudgingly get out and mow that strip of green out the front of your ridiculously small yard and think of it as a chore. And hey, if you see a guy admiring your work with what suspiciously looks like an erection in his tweeds then be sure to give me a wave huh?
It must be a boy thing because my wife doesn't get my appreciation for just such an occasion. On the few times she's run the mower over ours she's made it look like a state house effort. You know that look; strips in all directions, uneven cuts, missed bits and the inevitable burn make left when the ground was too close to the blade and dirt got cut, not grass.
Back when I was a lad we lived in a state house and it had a massive lawn. But because it was a Statey it also had fucked up things like concrete drains running through the back yard and a big concrete slab where the old shed used to be. There was also this massive pie of loose metal slap back in the middle of quite possibly the best cricket pitch that side of a real one. Why the pile was there in the first place or why it never got moved was a mystery to me. You could certainly bowl over it no problem, but no batsman ever took a cheeky single on that pitch.
We also had this split tiered bank think going on up the back of our yard, near the bush, which looked as though someone had started excavating the entire property before deciding 'Fuck it, this is only going to be a Statey’ and promptly gave up on the project completely. It was great for jumping the 'ol HMX off but bugger all else, so understandably it made mowing the lawns a chore and a half, but I didn't see it that way.
I took my time in mowing that lawn seven ways into Sunday. I'd stop after each row and adjust the level of the chassis by just a nib so that I got a real cross hatch look to my rows. In the long wet bits - and there were always long wet bits in a Statey - I'd start high and finish low so as not to clog the blade. And I never ever left a blade burn, even on the uneven, bumpy bits around that pile of bloody annoying loose metal.
Yes, it would take hours but then so did the Samoan boys up the street that had to cut theirs with machetes. Machete Day was always Sunday, after church and I always reckoned that you would have had to be religious in order to maintain sanity whilst hacking away with a hand made, hand held blade.
Their place was at the top of our grove and their front lawn dropped down at a 45 degree angle, which made grip an issue especially given that their two storey Statey blocked out the sun from ever hitting their front lawn after midday and they were cutting the lawn, with machetes, whilst barefoot. Accordingly none of the brothers dare start at the bottom least one of the older boys up the top slipped and tumbled down in an uncontrollable ball of afro and 'chete.
I once asked my mate Dennis were they got the machetes from. He told me that his parents had bought them with them from Samoa, back in the days I suppose when you could tuck a two foot machete in your carry on luggage and no one gave a toss.
My mate Bruiser was a turf connoisseur too. His front lawn was about the same floor area as most men’s toilets but my god did he know how to make it look as big (and as impressive) as Athletic Park. He was always mixing it up too; chequer board, alternating strips, centre circle ripples, man that stuff was the shit. We weren't at that stage of life back then but had we been, I suspect both of us would have stood inside at the window afterwards and had a big 'ol wank over our respective mowed lawns.
My Grandfather knew how to pull off a good lawn and he had a mower like all groundsman used to use back before the invention of tractor pulled or ride on lawn mowers. This thing not only cut the grass but it pushed what was left over so that when you came back the other way it created a different visual affect; one light strip, one dark strip but both cut at the same height. Genius! It’s a look replicated today but with half the effort and absolutely no hard on value for the guy doing it.
So think about that the next time you begrudgingly get out and mow that strip of green out the front of your ridiculously small yard and think of it as a chore. And hey, if you see a guy admiring your work with what suspiciously looks like an erection in his tweeds then be sure to give me a wave huh?
Bruiser's front lawn was always impressive
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