Flights of Fancy

I mowed the lawn on Saturday. Usually Tim does this chore - but he was out of town and I was beginning to suspect that there might be tigers living in our front yard, which just can't be good for the puppies, so I dragged the orange machine from our garage and donned my work gloves and grinned.

I grew up mowing the lawn. It's not a chore I ever really minded, though I know I complained enough about doing it. Mowing the lawn is magical - and I've missed it some - so it was with a silly grin that I pumed the engine primer and pulled the starter cord. And laughed aloud when the engine roared to life and my elbows began to throb in synch with the vibration of the mower.

With the first steps across the yard I was transported to the deepest jungles of Latin America. No more a suburban wife, I, the great adventurer, cut deep swaths through overgrown foilage, carefully scanning the area for the telltale trails of snakes and other jungle beasts. The sun beat down on my uncovered head and I cursed the loss of my pith helmet in the roaring rapids that, once crossed, led me here. But I tarried on, the dense humidity clinging to my skin.

Then I saw it. The fat, green tube that could only be one thing. I carefully sheathed my machete, squelching the urge to shake my arms to calm their jitters, and considered the serpent. It stretched across as much of the jungle as I could see, its large head and bright red tongue, thankfully, turned in another direction. I crept quietly toward the head, knowing I must grab as close to the jaw as possible to avoid being bitten and, with a deep breath, pounced. It wiggled. It fought. It spewed venom in an attempt to get free. We struggled for a few moments until finally it gave up and I coiled its now lifeless form beneath a tree, out of my path, as a warning to others.

I resumed my chopping, hoping to avoid any futher reptilian interruptions. Small, ferocious animals darted to and fro, charging me then turning at the last second and running away. Whether in terror or in fun, I do not know, but I didn't persue them since they left me be.

Finally, drenched with humidity and sweat, I reached the end of the jungle and turned to view the path I had cut with a great feeling of accomplishment.

I stopped the mower, to the chagrin of the puppies who had enjoyed their game and went to uncoil the hose and get the sprinkler set back out for its next early a.m. watering.

And I realized...I miss mowing the lawn. Maybe not enough to want to do it every week, but I will have to get Tim to let me do it now and again. It's always been a place where my mind can wander and I can explore - maybe it's the monotony, maybe it's the noise of the engine blocking out all other distractions. I'm not sure. But as I survey my hard work with a tall, cold glass of water, I see tigers creeping out from their hiding places and know that my work here is only done for now. But I shall return.