Zen and the Art of Tractor Mowing

Taking on challenges and learning new tasks isn’t always comfortable or fun at first.  But, as I learned last Saturday, a little perseverance and confidence in one’s skill level can make all the difference, leading to a sense of accomplishment and even a degree of pride and pleasure.

I’m not a natural driver.  Though I grew up in California, with the mandatory driver’s education course in high school, I didn’t bother to get my license until my freshman year of college.  I preferred walking, and still do, but driving is a way of life in California. Happily for me, it wasn’t in New York, so when I moved back to the Bay Area, I had to reacquaint myself with car life in a hurry.  I had to drive everywhere for my job at that time, and I learned a lot, ultimately becoming a confident freeway driver.

Nonetheless, getting behind any wheel isn’t something I look forward to.  Since we got this place up in Lake County, I’ve learned a lot about country life.  Enter the tractor mower.  OK, this thing isn’t a 6 foot tall John Deere (which might, given its sheer mass, have been more comforting).  It’s more like 3 feet tall, with a big, scary, mowing blade capable of amputation, and a throttle that doesn’t show speed changes, just two pictograms – jack rabbit or tortoise.  You get the idea.  On Saturday afternoon my husband was busy trying to finish successfully installing a dishwasher that actually worked and didn’t flood, etc.  And here was this big field, complete with contours, vines and other obstacles, just waiting to be mowed before sunset.  It was my turn. I approached the vehicle with a mix of trepidation and resentment, had a quick demonstration, mounted and took off. 

What popped into my head almost immediately was one of Bay Area composer Kirke Mechem’s American Madrigals, called “Kansas Boys.”  Last year the Level IV girls from the Chorus School sang this piece beautifully.  I also knew it because I had sung it in my college concert chorale.  (You’ve gotta love that – for me it was a college level piece, but here at SFGC, it’s standard fare for 12 year olds.)

Basically the song is an older woman’s admonition to young girls not to marry frontier farmers “for if you do, your fortune it will be -- hoecake, hominy and sassafrass tea…”  The line that resounded most frequently in my head went something like “leave you there to perish on the plain,” and since the tractor mower was so darned loud, I sang it lustily. 

The power of music to soothe and heal never ceases to amaze me.  After about 30 minutes and one or two close calls with water pipes, a pumphouse, and some grapevines, the tractor mower and I were working as one.  Two hours later I dismounted, looked at the nearly perfectly mowed field, (ignoring the quivering in both my hands and forearms) and walked into the house. 

The sun set, the field had been mowed, and the dishwasher still hadn’t successfully been installed…