Turf Wars

I just finished mowing the lawn. I've always liked that job. When I was growing up, the oldest kid got to mow the lawn, and the middle one got to pick up after the dog before the mowing could begin. I don't think I have to describe the details of why I was anxious for my older brother to pass along mowing duties to me so that I could hand off my "pooper scooper" detail to my younger brother.
While I was waiting for my time to come, I would hang around while the lawn was being mowed on the off chance that I would be allowed to empty the grass bag over the fence into the vacant lot behind our house. Or maybe I could bring the gas can from the garage for a quick refueling stop - anything to get me closer to the machine.
When the day finally came that I was welcomed into the fraternity of mowing, I was ready. I had studied the careful turns and cuts that needed to be made on our back lawn beneath the crab apple tree. A side-bagging mower meant that the front yard, with its twisting sidewalk and hedgerow, was especially treacherous. I learned early on to vary my path on a weekly basis. Constantly mowing in the same direction allows the grass to lie down and become matted. Sometimes vertical stripes - sometimes horizontal - other times I mowed in concentric circles until I reached the center.
I grew up in Colorado, so I spent winters shoveling paths in the snow, clearing driveways. The satisfaction of cutting a swath through the green grass was very similar to that of cutting through ice and snow. Now that I have moved to California and have a house of my own, there's not much snow to shovel - but I get to mow the lawn all year 'round. Today I did a combo pattern - the back yard got stripes, and the front got a capital "C."