Beech Tree News Network

On Saturday, I told my husband, Garey, I would mow the yard, so he could work on getting the area where we grow sweet potatoes ready to plant.  Garey bought a zero-turn lawn mower last spring, and I mowed with it a few times last summer. 

               Mowing with a zero-turn is a bit different from mowing with a standard lawn mower.  It takes some getting used to, so I cautioned myself before I got on ours, reminding myself to go up then down—not across—sidling areas, in order not to slide down the hill, or worse, roll the mower.  You also have to deal with those two big arms that steer you forward or backward or to the left or right or in a circle.  It’s a lot like playing a pedal steel guitar, which I never could get the hang of.

               There are also a series of steps you have to go through in order to start the thing.  The steps on ours are printed next to the throttle.  They include: Arms down and out to the side; parking brake on; choke up; throttle set at correct position; PTO off; and turn the key.  I completed all six steps, the motor hit once then died.  I tried again.  Nothing.  I read through the steps again, tried three more times, still nothing. 

               By this point, I was really frustrated.  I called the mower a few not-so-nice names, jumped into Garey’s pickup, and drove to the area where he was disking.  I got out, slammed the door, and motioned for him to come my way.  He did.  Over the roar of the tractor engine, I apologized loudly for “not having enough sense to start a lawn mower” then told him how I had proceeded through all six steps with little success. 

               “There’s a seventh step,” he said, simply.  “Remember how I told you the gas leaked into the oil, and how I didn’t have time to break into the carburetor right now? I put an on/off switch on the gas line.”

               Yes, back in the far recesses of my mind, I remember the conversation, but there was no Post-it stuck to the lawn mower reminding me of such, so I didn’t remember the particulars.  

               “Take me to the house, and I’ll help you get it started,” he said.

               We got into the truck, where I proceeded to go into one of my “Only in America” rants. 

               “Only in America would you have a lawn mower you have to go through seven steps before the stupid thing will start,” I said.  “You should be able to push a simple button or turn a simple key.  People in third world countries wouldn’t put up with this.  They would have already formed a posse, hunted the manufacturer down and forced him to put a bypass switch on each and every one of their lawn mowers, and a remote control to boot.”

               “If you lived in a third world country, you’d be cutting your grass with a grubbing hoe,” Garey said.  (I hate when he’s reasonable.  He was clearly not feeling my pain.)

               We arrived at the lawn mower, Garey turned on the gas valve, I followed the other six steps, and the mower sprang to life.  I cut the grass, while still fuming about the ridiculousness of the now seven steps it took to start the stupid lawn mower.

               Later, Natalie, Scott and Sabria came by to help set out sweet potato plants.  We used a grubbing hoe.  I was happy.