The one reason I don't mind the snow sticking around

 

Twenty-nine years ago this month, Terry and I bought our first house. That means I've been cutting my grass for nearly three decades.

I have a love-hate relationship with lawn mowing.

On one hand, I like the exercise. By the time I finish cutting our grass, I've walked somewhere between 2 and 3 miles. It's a nice way to get those steps in.

Conversely, it's not exactly what I would call fun. On those humid July days when it's already 85 degrees at 10 in the morning, the last thing I want to do is get out there and push the mower around.

To be fair, I don't really push the mower. It actually pulls me, as it's self-propelled and I always crank the speed up just a hair beyond my comfort zone to get the whole thing finished more quickly.

I like the results of lawn mowing, I just don't always fully embrace the process.

To paraphrase author Dorothy Parker, who famously said she hated writing but loved "having written," I am a much bigger fan of "having mowed" than "actually mowing."

As I wrote this post two weeks ago, there was still plenty of snow covering my yard. I don't know what it's going to look like on March 12th as you read this, but the fact is, mowing season is coming, and it's coming soon.

Some years I begin cutting the grass as early as March 20th. Other years, rain and other factors push the start date as far back as late April.

Usually it's somewhere in between, both for me and for my son Jack, who cuts our neighbors' grass.

Once we start cutting, that grass inexorably grows, and we can't stop again until November.

Bottom line: I'm pretty much done with winter at this point, but if it wants to stick around a tad longer and delay the start of the 30th mowing season of my life, that's probably OK.