The Great Mower Myth
POCATELLO — There’s a powerful, almost religious, mythology surrounding lawn mowers.
We believe in their innate quality to beautify our living spaces, and we pray over them, albeit somewhat blasphemously.
For instance, we may wake up on a cool, sunny morning and say to ourselves, “This morning I will mow the lawn.” And we may actually believe the job will get done.
But like God, despite our desperate prayers, lawn mowers move in mysterious ways.
Today is such a day. I awakened cheerfully, full of hope, only to have my hopes dashed to despair.
Alas, as I write these words, my mower sits on the long grass sporting a shiny new spark plug, new air filter and fresh, unleaded gasoline. I’ve pushed the appropriate buttons listed in the manual and spent the past half hour tugging on the starter rope to no avail.
I’m pooped. I’m angry. The time I allotted to beautifying my outdoor spaces has come and gone, and my grass is growing longer by the minute, longer than the city’s lawn police allow.
But my intentions are good. I’ve been acting in good faith. My mower is still quite young and is kept out of the elements in my garage over winter with a protective dose of fuel enhancer.
The problem is, the only day it actually worked like it is supposed to is the day I bought it.
Of course, I can’t purchase a new mower every time my little patch of grass needs mowing, so what to do?
I call my son.
Despite my hard won, and somewhat stubborn, independence, in my ancient wisdom I’ve concluded that some things fall more easily within the purview of the male gender and/or a more youthful countenance.
Lawn mower husbandry is one of those things.
And sure enough. Edward shows up, and within minutes, the mower is purring and ready to roar.
I observe this small engine priest carefully. He pushes the same fuel button I pushed, holds the same lever in place I held, and yanks on the starter rope. Voila!
Why won’t it start for me?