May 3, 2000\u2013that fateful Wednesday. When I got up that morning at 5:30, I didn\u2019t realize what an eventful day it would be. I had retired about nine years earlier, and Wednesday had become the day to mow the lawn. I remember that the weather was turning warmer\u2014warm, that is, for Minnesota. It had been rainy, and the grass was getting tall. It was time to cut it for the first time that spring.<\/p>\n
I was ready. The week before I had gone to Rostabelli\u2019s hardware and had the lawn mower blade sharpened. Jim did it himself. I also had bought a new plug (it doesn\u2019t pay to use the one from last year) and an air filter. On the way home I put fresh gas in the can. As soon as I got back, I put the blade and other stuff on the Mohawk. I really like the Mohawk. I\u2019ve had this one seven years, and the one before, sixteen years. I filled the tank with gas and primed the engine. After about fifteen minutes of yanking the cord and adjusting the choke\u2013it always takes long the first time you do it in the spring\u2013the engine kicked over. So I knew I was set for the task next week.<\/p>\n
*****<\/p>\n
I like to get up early. It\u2019s quiet, and I can read the paper in peace. That Wednesday, as usual, I washed my face and didn\u2019t shower or shave, since I like to do those things after I cut the grass. I put on an old dress shirt that had a spot on it from when I absentmindedly stuck an uncapped pen in the pocket (Bea is always getting on me to throw the shirt out), got into some old jeans, and put on a beat\u2013up pair of Rockports.<\/p>\n
I went downstairs to make breakfast, being very careful not to wake Bea. I know better than to wake her\u2014she roars like a lioness protecting her cubs when I do.<\/p>\n
I ate what I usually eat on Wednesdays: a bowl of Rice Krispies with one percent milk and half a banana, a piece of whole wheat toast with margarine, and black coffee. I made a big pot of coffee so that Bea could have some as soon as she came down. After two cups she usually starts talking.<\/p>\n
I recall that I had just about finished my coffee and was looking at the obituary pages (no one I knew had died that day) when Bea walked in wearing her red bathrobe and red floppy slippers that our daughter had bought her from Target for Christmas. She went over to the coffee pot, her slippers slapping against the floor, and she poured herself a cup. She sipped it at first and, when it had cooled sufficiently, gulped the rest of it down. She then poured another cup and sat down opposite me at our kitchen table.<\/p>\n
By this time I was on to the sports pages\u2013the Twins were off to a good start. Bea drank her coffee slowly. I turned to the business section. The market was up, but two of the stocks I was following were down.<\/p>\n
Bea finished her coffee and carefully placed her cup in the exact middle of her saucer. \u201cIt\u2019s a good thing you\u2019re mowing today,\u201d she said. \u201cThe lawn\u2019s starting to look like a jungle.\u201d<\/p>\n
I paused, envisioning our yard a haven for all sorts of wondrous creatures: Vividly-colored tropical birds screeching their exotic calls, all varieties of simians swinging in the trees, and beautiful, cat\u2013like beasts waiting to pounce. The more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea. <\/p>\n
Every Wednesday morning, starting in May and ending in November, for the last nine years I had been mowing the lawn. Before that, when I was working, it was every Saturday morning. I had been mowing lawns for about forty\u2013five years, I realized, trying to tame nature. But why? Nature is inevitably going to win; it just grows back. So why was I going through all this trouble to keep it at bay? To impress (read: beat) my neighbor, Al Feckenburg? Maybe it was time to enjoy nature instead of fighting it…<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not going to cut the grass today,\u201d I said, having reached a decision.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou feeling OK?\u201d Bea said as she chewed on a piece of cold pizza she had retrieved from the refrigerator.<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah, I\u2019m feeling fine.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe grass is really getting tall,” she insisted. “It might rain tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYeah,” I agreed. “The grass keeps growing, and there\u2019s always the chance that it will rain.\u201d<\/p>\n
I turned to the comics and glanced at Peanuts<\/em>.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, then, what are you going to do today?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ve been thinking of sitting under that big maple in the back, reading a book and watching the birds,” I mused. “You know, in all the years we\u2019ve lived here I never have done that?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe that\u2019s because when you go out there either the mosquitoes or the wasps attack you,” Bea jeered. “So when are you planning on mowing?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know, maybe never.\u201d<\/p>\n Bea put down the remains of the pizza and looked at me over her glasses. \u201cDon\u2019t tell me you\u2019re finally going to hire a lawn service.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhy would I do that?\u201d I said. \u201cIf I want the lawn mowed, I can do it myself.\u201d<\/p>\n Bea picked up her pizza again and started to read the obituary notices. \u201cI see where Sarah Jensen died,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n \u201cWho\u2019s she?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEdmund, don\u2019t you remember anything? She and her husband filled in for the Krenshaws at bridge last year.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou mean I met her once, a year ago, and I\u2019m supposed to remember her?\u201d<\/p>\n Bea went to the refrigerator, took out another piece of pizza, and poured herself a glass of orange juice. \u201cWhat brought this all on?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat, not remembering Sarah Jensen?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo,\u201d she said. \u201cNot cutting the grass.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know exactly. Maybe it\u2019s because I\u2019m seventy\u2013one and having the neatest lawn in the neighborhood isn\u2019t that important anymore. Besides there\u2019s no way I can beat Al Feckenburg. I concede him the championship.\u201d<\/p>\n I was looking at the bridge column, now.<\/p>\n \u201cYou can\u2019t just leave the grass grow,” she persisted. “The town\u2019ll get after you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI can always cover it over with concrete.\u201d<\/p>\n Bea dropped her pizza and shot up like she had just sat on a tack. \u201cConcrete? Now you\u2019re just talking crazy!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe we should sell the house and the lawn, and move to some place like Australia?\u201d<\/p>\n Bea sat back down and sighed. \u201cEdmund, just what has come over you? Maybe you ought to see Dr. Ellenbogen.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t need to. I\u2019m fine. Maybe we ought to think about the rut we\u2019re in. Maybe we should stop doing things just because we\u2019ve always done them.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe I should stop cooking?\u201d she tested.<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe. We eat too much anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd maybe I should stop cleaning house.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe. We don\u2019t need this big house anymore. Trudy moved out a long time ago, and she isn\u2019t going to move back or have any children for us to put up. We can get rid of that crib and playpen you\u2019ve been storing in the attic. Maybe we should live in a hut or a tent…\u201d<\/p>\n Bea bit her lip and silently took her plate, cup and saucer, and glass, and rinsed them in the sink before placing them in the dishwasher. <\/p>\n \u201cWhere is this all heading?\u201d <\/p>\n I didn\u2019t answer her. I didn\u2019t know where it was heading.<\/p>\n That day I went outside and sat under the maple with a book I had wanted to read for a long time. I watched some robins pecking for worms, and the chickadees frenetically flying to and from the bird feeder. I listened for the silence. It was a little cool, but there were no mosquitoes or wasps to bother me. I didn\u2019t do anything constructive all day, but I felt my heart pumping, and that was good. I couldn\u2019t wait to see the next morning. Maybe I\u2019d get up to watch the sunrise, or maybe I\u2019d pull the covers over my head and spend the rest of the day in bed.<\/p><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" May 3, 2000\u2013that fateful Wednesday. When I got up that morning at 5:30, I didn\u2019t realize what an eventful day it would be. I had retired about nine years earlier, and Wednesday had become the day to mow the lawn. I remember that the weather was turning warmer\u2014warm, that is, for Minnesota. It had been … <\/p>\n