June 2014: A Lawn Manicure Misadventure

June 2014: A Lawn Manicure Misadventure

Memorial Weekend of 2014 was notable in Duluth because locals hung out on icebergs in Lake Superior hauling games and foosball tables out into the lake via boat and heaving them up onto the icebergs leftover from the death winter of 2013 to enjoy the holiday heat. That's right, icebergs. Because the winter of 2013 was a baptism by fire into home ownership, delivering feet of snow and helping me meet my neighbors while we all had asthma attacks together trying to shovel our corner lots. Fast forward to the now summer weather where, despite the heat, people are lounging on chunks of ice in our Lady of the Lake. 

A few weeks after Memorial Day 2014, Adam caught a softball by diving and sliding his body, gloved hand first, through the mud. He caught the ball, and also snapped his wrist backward when the tip of his glove caught in the mud. We begin this story with Adam's lower arm encased in a lime green cast and us studying a predicament best described as "forest-like lawn versus novice homeowner + one-armed man: a lawn manicure misadventure."

June 2014: 

Hillside, atop crumbling 90+ year old retaining wall, intersection of 17th Ave. and E 6th St. 

*There are no photos of the following incident. We could never capture this event accurately. But my neighbors might be able to give additional details and color. For now, you'll need to use your imagination, and I believe you'll get a pretty good idea of what went down. And there are so many things that went down so much more efficiently than the level of my lawn. 

It is a fact that I do not possess a lawn mower, yet I possess a lawn, in dire need of mowing. And by dire need I mean it hasn't stopped raining here since the snow melted and by the look of things Shere Khan the Tiger may be lurking in my lawn, unbeknownst to me due to the thicket growing outside my front door. Also, rose bushes spread. like. crazy. So there is a healthy mix of thorns, grass, and possibly wild jungle creatures and/or members of the homeless population hidden beneath the mutant grass.

So my lovely boyfriend brings back from his parent's house, a mower which he purchased during his high school days at which time he was a prominent lawn mower in the community. Note "high school days," thus the lawn mower has not been run in a couple years. He maintains that his father continued using til 2-3 years ago but we'll table that for now.

We fill the lawn mower with fuel, check the oil, and coat the air intake with starter fluid. And by "we" I mean "me" because he has a broken wrist and is nearly helpless (I literally have to rinse his contact lenses for him). So I then pull the cord to start the machine and not only does it come to life but the engine revs so loudly I fear an imminent explosion and release the cord and begin to flee. The engine stops. Adam looks up at me from his perch two inches from the lawn mower with a more than slightly aggravated expression and asks why I let go of the cord. My explanation does not satisfy him and I'm pretty much forced to tiptoe back to risk my life and standby again as we both sit next to the ticking time bomb. Eventually it is determined that while it will rev, it will not continually RUN. Which brings me back where I was to start.

After a week of battling the high school state champion lawn mower, I take it apart and verify the fuel line is clear, the float is open in the carb, and the fly wheel is spinning. There are no apparent problems. I am back to square one, plus a bonus sample of the extremely potent fragrance of gasoline. For women. Semi permanently ingrained in my skin. Lawnmower 1: Me 0.

Several days later I swallow my pride and ask to borrow a friend's mower. Now mind you, my lawn is scarcely existent, maybe 50x50 feet. Square. On a 45 degree angle on a hill. So there's that. I pick up said lawn mower with the truck, unload and get ready to rock and roll.

Sweet Mother of Mary.

Let's preface by saying the torrential downpours of the past week combined with the African grasslands has made a sort of sponge effect occur in my lawn. As I start mowing in a straight line downhill, it's clear that I am not pushing the mower; it is pulling me. And I'm on a slip and slide. Fast forward to the bottom of the lawn where I find myself wedged up against the retaining wall with the lawn mower between myself and the wall and scrambling to get my footing on the slick grass. I try to turn the lawn mower around, in hopes of pushing it back up, and I fall again and nearly get run over as the lawn mower is now wedging me between itself and the concrete retaining wall. This is not ok. New strategy -- brace my foot on the retaining wall, push the lawn mower up the hill. I get in position, begin pushing, then realize that while I am pushing the mower, I am also beginning to be stretched out and now am unable to remove the foot braced against the wall, lest my only foothold be removed and the lawn mower come back down the hill and pin me against the wall again.

God save the queen.

I start to release my pressure on the mower and let it glide down to me. I then turn it around and attempt to drag it up the hill. I'm pulling and grunting and sweating and finally drag it almost to the top when I slip and nearly fall under it. I've fallen into a sitting position and managed to catch the mower before it rolls all the way back down. I then sit there, 3/4 of the way up, holding the lawn mower which is teetering halfway up the hill in my weakening grip. Adam finally appears and grabs the mower with his strong hand and drags it back up the hill.

At this point I am covered in wet grass clippings and rose bush clippings and probably tiger fur. I crawl back up the hill. I begin again, this time slower as I go down and make it to the retaining wall with little incident. I turn the mower off as recommended by Adam as he fears I will saw off a limb soon. As I turn around to push back up, Adam shouts "lower your center of gravity" so I do, while itching my middle finger in his direction. I hunker down, bowing my head and pushing the mower with my arms out over me, attempting to climb the hill. I move 2 inches and am then stuck. I can feel my shoes slipping down, I cannot push up anymore. I am stuck. Adam rushes down and pushes me AND the mower back up. I do not know how he maintained his composure. He pushes us both back up and under the tree in the yard where I will again pull the cord to start the mower for about the 357th time that day. My shoulder is burning.

Now this tree in my yard, it's beautiful. It has lovely little pink flower blossoms all over it and it's shady and it smells lovely. I'm standing under it where Adam left myself and the mower and I reach to pull the cord and Dear Jesus WHAT IS HAPPENING.

I pull the cord and heave my entire body backwards INTO THE THORNS on the beautiful @#$^^$#$^ tree. Pain, blood. Blood and pain. Thorns digging into my shoulder. I let go of the lawn mower again and then rush to chase it down the hill as it gets away from me. I catch it. Am stuck again in an "if you move you will slip down the hill" and "if you try to go up the hill you will also slip down the hill" situation. I'm sick of it. Adam again drags us both up the hill.

I swear profusely and insist I am selling the house and that home ownership is for the birds. I head for the kitchen to get some water because I'm sure there is a heart attack and heat exhaustion in my near future if I don't get some hydration and catch my breath. I collapse on the kitchen floor, sucking air and trying to trickle water into my mouth. Adam walks in moments later, obviously impressed. I can't move. I'm paralyzed with exhaustion.

After a few minutes the room stops spinning and I calculate my next move. I'm so hot and so covered in green that I'm bound to get put on the outside of frozen vegetable cans if I don't get clean. I crawl to the stairs and make my way up to the bathroom.

I get into the shower. Fully clothed. And lay there soaking in the cool water. Adam leaves because the situation has fully overwhelmed him and he cannot tolerate more. The grass looks like Texas Chainsaw Massacre. I get a text this morning from my neighbor once the sun comes up that says "OMG the poor grass. You DIDN'T!!"

It should be further documented that Adam recalls me allegedly asking to borrow his softball cleats the next time I attempted to mow. I don't remember this, but it's possible I did make this request. The second lawn mowing attempt failed miserably when I placed a foot atop the retaining wall to get a stronghold so I could push the mower UP the hill. Aforementioned wall subsequently crumbled beneath my feet, at which time I fell off the wall and into the street, somehow managing to keep the lawn mower from landing on top of me, but nevertheless managing to cut every part of my body. I managed to drag myself up the front stairs to pound on the [locked] front door, much to the horror of my current roommate, who opened the door, opened his mouth, and yelled "ADAM!" I was cut and bleeding from so many places that I again wound up fully clothed in the shower while Adam tried to spray the blood off and repeatedly directed me to "put pressure on the bleeding" to which I responded "WHICH AREA OF BLEEDING." The scars remain. I've never mowed again.