Our Brand-New ‘Toy’ Lawnmower

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When I was a little kid, I recall having a toy lawnmower. At least I think so. The memory is fuzzy enough that at times I doubt its accuracy. It is possible one of my young friends in Allenstown, N.H. — Bruce Courtemanche or Peter Engel, to name a couple — actually had it and occasionally allowed me to play with it. Or it could have been one of my many cousins. But there is a toy lawnmower in my past, of this, I am sure.

My certainty stems from the flashback that hit me as I assembled a 13-inch electric mower with a rechargeable battery a few weeks ago. As mentioned previously, I am on the injured-reserve list when it comes to operating either the tractor or the zero-turn mower, thanks to shoulder surgery — probably until late September. My Beautiful Mystery Companion is adeptly handling mowing duties. The truth be known she is better and faster at it than I am.

But that leaves our small, fenced backyard, to which we added several walkways and other decorative elements during spring, with the able assistance of a local landscaper who did most of the heavy lifting — literally. This immensely improved the look of the backyard, but it created some mighty narrow places to try to maneuver a 54-inch mower. My BMC and I nearly simultaneously had the idea to buy the electric mower for the backyard. Plus, I could push this little guy with my good arm and slightly lessen her mowing chores, so I do not feel quite as useless. That lapsed-Catholic guilt kicks in when she is mowing in 95-degree heat while I am ensconced in the air-conditioning.

This mower is so light that it has a handle so one can pick it up to hop over the river-rock walkways to the next patch of Bermudagrass. The battery lasts for about two-thirds of the yard, but we own a blower of the same brand and can finish the job using its battery. No matter the size of area being tackled, there is a concrete feeling of accomplishment admiring a freshly mowed yard — even when the mower looks like something a 5-year-old would push while making fake lawnmower noises.

I was so pleased with the mower that I returned to the Big Box Store the following week to buy a battery-operated weed eater. The industrial-grade weed eater purchased right after we acquired Three Geese Farm is terrific — except with my bum arm and the weight of that implement, neither my BMC nor me can crank it at the moment. Pulling a starter rope is verboten after my surgery, a painful procedure I certainly do not want to be for naught. So this lightweight trimmer with a trigger and no cranking rope is perfect for our needs. I can safely trim the spots the baby mower can’t reach without putting a strain on my shoulder.

We officially now have enough lawn equipment, chainsaws, blowers and what-not to open a mom-and-pop lawn-service company. All we need is a trailer to haul this stuff around, and we’re in business.

Kidding, of course. But whenever we downsize, when the day comes to cry “Calf rope” and sell this farm, the big stuff will go on the sales block while the cute little mower and his friends will stick around. We both knew when we bought this place that there would come a time to downsize, though exactly when is up in the air.

The baby mower also reminded me of Grammy Bourque, my French-Canadian maternal grandmother. She stood about 4-feet-11-inches until old age stooped her down another six inches. After my grandfather died in 1972, she took over the lawn-mowing duties on the approximately half-acre country lot where they lived outside Hopkinton, N.H. She was reluctant to let anyone else handle her small push mower. When my two brothers and I came to visit every other summer or so, we would tell her, “Grammy, we’ll mow your yard while we’re here.” Grammy would wait until we had gone to town and get out there to mow before we got back. This went on until she was knocking on 90 years old.

With good fortune and God’s will, I hope to be hale and hearty enough at 90 to mow my own yard, probably with another iteration of this little electric mower.

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