By Lorry Myers
The first time I noticed it happening was the day I learned to start the mower. My son reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver bottle, a move I’ve seen many times since. Mowing has never been my thing but when my husband died, he left me a new riding mower in our shed. With that, I had to convince my skeptical son to give me a mowing lesson.
It took a lot of convincing.
Taylor started with fueling the mower, which I hated. Mower parts and how they work was next, which I ignored. Then, we actually started the mower, which seemed overly complicated with levers and throttles and knobs. Finally, my son had me watch him mow.
That was my favorite part of the mowing lesson.
After a couple of rounds, it was my turn, and Taylor moved to the patio to watch. Once I got it started, I quickly turned the mower toward the house to catch a strip of grass my son missed, finally remembering to lower the blade just as I got to the patio.
The very place where Taylor was standing.
Sadly, I’d paid no attention to the mower parts lesson, so missed the info about which way the grass shoots out of the mower which, apparently, was the side my son was on. As I mowed obliviously by, Taylor raised his hands to shield himself from the stream of broken blades that showered him in green. Unknowingly, I looked back and realized what I had done. It was then I saw Taylor reach into his pocket, pull out that silver bottle, and shake it in the grass.
I recognized that silver bottle.
For the complete column, see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard
