So as I push my now seemingly antique 7 horsepower 22” wide rusted green mower across my little patch of earth for the 4 millionth time this year I wonder if this will finally be the end. Enough already it's late October seventy degrees sunny and I'm still mowing once a week. Granted once a week is a nice change from the twice a week happenings of March through July due to a soggy wet and most cool summer.

Friends would comment “wow the yard looks really great this year what are you dong different?” and depending on my mood I'd quip back with “a lot of extra water”. None of which had anything to do with me and everything to do with the fact it was monsoon season in the Midwest most of the spring and early summer. Then there was the always popular “Mother nature hasn't killed it” response which garnered blank stares.

Why was my lawn so much better this year? Simple Nature cooperated!

Don't get me wrong I like to mow the grass. So much so in fact it might be bordering on an obsession with how the lawn is groomed. I refuse to pay some one to do it for me because in most cases I won't be happy with how its done. I'd be filled with concerns like. Are their blades sharp enough? Will they run over my saplings, are they going to get the cuttings in the mulch, all over the statues and in the darn fountain. Seriously how had is it to not blown grass all over the statues and keep it out of the fountain?

So an hour long brisk push of my aging grass mutilating device leads to a not so quick dose of the weed whacker around the walks gardens and edges and a bit of a tussle with the leaf blower that still has not had any leaves to blow this year.

Sooner or later the leaves have to fall off the tree. Right? Let's just hope it's not during the first ice storm of the year.

There I am in shorts, a ripped t shirt, and big black boots that are as old as the mower. Their surface stained green and caked with grass. As I run the mower complete dry of gasoline I declare it is officially fall and the mowing season has ceased. Off to tear out some bushes, think of a way to get rid of a few unsightly cedar trees and lay out the new garden plans for in front of the living room windows.

I call to my wife about needing a few tons of dirt to build up and refresh the soil in that garden. I can't see her but I know she's rolling her eyes. I've mowed to much and not moved nearly enough dirt this year. Like all things it's a delicate balance. In the warm afternoon sun I cut down the last of the veggies, get few more fall pole beans and marvel at my seeming indestructible Lemon Thyme plant that has aspirations of taking over the entire herb garden.

It may have been a great year for the grass but was a lousy year for the Basil. Given a choice I'd rather have great basil and brown grass com July and August. It's almost really fall. Indian summer is fading and being the eternal optimist I put away the mower for good. Standing at the front walk families go strolling by, kids on bikes, babies being pushed in strollers. All of them out and about enjoying the warm air, cool breeze and sun shine.

“How's it going?” one passer by asks.

“It's a nice day for a mow!” I reply back in my best native East Coast accent. I talk fast by local standards.

He just shook his head, paused, and added “Hopefully its the last time this year.”

I couldn't have agreed more.