July 12, 2005
chainsaw gardening
When people drive by my house as I'm mowing my front "lawn" they are more likely to think I'm practicing my golf swing. I do not play golf. But cutting grass with a long-handled scythe comes pretty close to a golf swing exercise as far as I can tell. Of course there's the "back swing" attack that is more like hitting a low flying tennis ball. I took up the scythe after my lawn broke the mechanical mower. Broke the axle right in half on a giant tuft. Tried the weed whacker too. Which requires cadging together two extension cords and running them out the front door. As well as protective gear: long sleeves, socks, sturdy shoes, and long pants--to prevent being accidentally whipped by the string or flying debris--as well as goggles and a handkerchief tied over the nose and mouth.
My neighbors probably think I'm missing a few screws. They haul out their array of gasoline-fired lawn mowers, weed whackers, dust blowers, and chainsaws for a Saturday gardening session. When finished, their lawns are like wall-to-wall carpeting, their edges are square, and anything sticking up more than a foot high is duly shaved, or rounded, or cubed.
I went to a doctor appointment yesterday and noticed the handiwork of what must be their new gardener. For months now I've been admiring the graceful growth of a small abutilon in the courtyard of the doctors' offices. It is the one that sends each delicate branch arching downward in a perfect cascade of pale pink globes. But the cascade was no more. The gardener had "pruned" it to a few blunt stems all sticking straight up. It looked as if a small chainsaw had delivered a couple of quick karate chops and moved on.
