View from the Cab: Let the mowing begin
By: Kent Casson
Where did the time go?
Not only is our oldest son months away from being a “terrible teenager” as my great grandmother used to call it, but he is also mowing the yard. I guess that sounds about right since I was well into my mowing career by the age of 12.
Kasen is finally heavy enough to sit on the lawn mower without the engine dying or the blades shutting off. According to John Deere, he must be ready to mow. I showed Kasen the ropes the other day by letting him loose in the front yard. He did a pretty good job and didn’t leave any strips of grass despite having to stare right into the sun each time he traveled west.
This boy is already a professional since he wears his tractor headphones and big sunglasses – just like his old man. We are lucky to have the big baseball yard in front of our house for Kasen to practice on before he graduates to mowing the rest of the yard and dodging obstacles such as the house, shed and trees. After a little practice, he will be mowing the farm yards and, eventually, ditches in no time.
Helping Kasen get started on the mower reminds me of my childhood days when Dad would outline the yard and certain buildings a few times with the John Deere 400 before I was allowed to hop on and mow the rest of the big areas. I was always instructed to blow grass and debris away from the house at least three times if not more.
Dad must trust me now because he certainly doesn’t outline stuff for me these days – although it does sound kind of nice. I guess he feels his 40-year-old son can do it all by himself. What a big boy!
Kasen and I come from a family of Casson and Harms mowing fanatics. My grandpa always had the ditches and farmsteads in top-notch shape long before mowing stuff short was cool. Now, everyone appears to do the Dale Casson style of mowing. Dad followed in his footsteps and I’m not far behind, apparently. Then I married into a family who is always on a lawn mower for a good part of the week during the spring and summer months. It was the perfect match.
Rebecca and I have dreamt of the day when we could sit on the front porch, sip on a cold drink and watch Kasen mow the yard while jokingly telling him, “you missed a spot.” Although when I heard those words, it was no joke back in the day. Dad and Grandpa knew if I tried to cut a corner too short or didn’t back up to get that last strip of grass. I would hear about it the next day.
Don’t even get me started on running over sticks and rocks throughout the years. That’s a topic for another time. Perhaps I could call that article “the mowing perfectionists.”
