Mowing in Circles

I sat on the big Kioti tractor, my legs dangling like a kid and perversely mowed in a circle. All three of the main adult men in my life, my husband, my father and my father-in-law, decry mowing in a circle. My father has gone so far as to say only hillbillies mow in a circle. So be it. I am a mowing hillbilly.

Perhaps because they told me I shouldn't, (perverse: in a contrary disobedient manner) mowing in a circle was attractive. But I think more, it was satisfying to see the circle get smaller and to waste no moment of mowing. Mowing straight, square lines was not important to me. Getting our neighbor's six acres mowed quickly was.

As I mowed, barn swallows swooped in front of me and I wondered if they were protecting fledglings and I was was in danger of mowing over them. I try not to think of that as I mow, what little creatures might be in my path. It has to be done, I tell myself, and I don't look back except for quick looks to see that the mower is doing it's job. Finally, it dawns on me that the barns swallows aren't dive bombing me - they're eating! The mower is kicking up all kinds of insects, exposing them in the now short grass, and the birds are having a feast tonight, compliments of my tractor.

Mowing is a very satisfactory task. It stays done for awhile after doing it, unlike most of my housework. You can't hear anyone, they can't hear you, and you can think. I worked out vacation plans, thought about things I needed to do, and wrote this blog. I mowed until I saw the sun ease its way under the horizon. I mowed in circles.