It may be that we have cut the grass for the last time before the rain falls in earnest, but when we’re back at it regularly, one thing may change: the lines on the lawn. We have always been east-to-west kind of people. Sometimes north to south, but not so much. It’s usually east to west.
We run the lawn mower parallel to the fence in the rear and the house in the front. One way down. One way back. Where grass cutting is concerned, we’re pretty boring people.
We may just change that up. It may be too expensive to overhaul the landscaping or redo the driveway, but heck, the lawn cutting’s easy.
“So,” I said to the husband recently. We had exhausted our discussion of football and the weather, so I decided the time was right for a topic we seldom land on. The grass.
“What do you think of diagonal?” I asked.
“Diagonal?” he said. “Diagonal what?”
“Diagonal lines on the lawn, of course,” I said. “I mean, I know it’s still November, but before you know it, we’ll be cutting the grass again. Never too early to think of the lines.”
The husband stroked his chin and looked at me as though I’d lost it.
“I like diagonal,” he said after a minute.
“Me too,” I said. “But it’s challenging. I mean, given the tree in the middle of the front yard.”
We considered the other possibilities. We could do the lattice cut, I suggested, a look that resembles the crust on apple pie. It’s the double cut: east to west, then north to south.
“The double cut is double the work,” pointed out the husband. “I like it better with apple pie.”
OK. Fair enough.
What about the Zamboni cut, I wondered?
“The Zamboni cut?” asked the husband
“Come on!” I said. “You’ve seen more than your share of hockey games! You start on the outside and go around and around and around in circles and finish in the middle.”
The husband and I were both trying to picture a back yard version of the ice rink.
“Not a good look,” said the husband.
“Agreed,” I said. ‘Forget the Zamboni cut.”
That left the hither and yon approach. Or hither and thither. Whatever.
In essence, I told the husband, the style is kind of like abstract art. You let the mower take the lead, and whatever happens happens.
The husband tried to imagine the outcome.
“Mmm,” he said. “Not sure of that one.”
I wasn’t either.
So come lawn-cutting season, we’ll probably stick with the status quo. East to west it will no doubt be. On occasion, we’ll go north to south.
