On any given non-rainy day, you’ve only to step outside our front or back doors to hear the surround-sound of multiple lawn mowers, edgers, shrub trimmers and blowers. One of the anthems of my generation was “Land of a Thousand Dances.” Now, that’s become “Land of a Thousand Mowers.”
Somewhere along the chronological road, guys who used to vie for bragging rights on the hottest car or motorcycle morphed into men who compete for the greenest, most velvety, weed-free lawn. I see them out for a walk, eyeing each other’s handiwork.
When we moved into this community, a friendly neighbor-man walked over to welcome us and then gave us the run-down on the folks in all the houses in viewing distance from ours. Most of the thumbnail descriptions included a reference to the quality of their yard work.
If size matters, does the guy with the biggest power mower win?
Somewhere along the chronological road, guys who used to vie for bragging rights on the hottest car or motorcycle morphed into men who compete for the greenest, most velvety, weed-free lawn. I see them out for a walk, eyeing each other’s handiwork.
When we moved into this community, a friendly neighbor-man walked over to welcome us and then gave us the run-down on the folks in all the houses in viewing distance from ours. Most of the thumbnail descriptions included a reference to the quality of their yard work.
If size matters, does the guy with the biggest power mower win?
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