Salocin

Mowing the Lawn

In Belgium, I live in the country, and by virtue of a momentary lapse of reason and a glass of wine with dinner at sunset, I found myself volunteering to "mow the lawn" in one of the fields adjoining a neighbour. The weeds had grown quite tall, I was told, so I said I'd take care of it tomorrow. After all, how tall can a weed be?

Two metres, that's how tall a weed can be. And a good inch wide at the base of the stem. But I didn't know that yet, I'm getting ahead of myself.

After mentioning my plans to a suitably equipped individual, and describing the field the edge of which I had decided to clear, this fully tooled up fellow said he knew the area I was talking about and had exactly what I needed. He proceeded to give me a helmet, a harness and a two-stroke Kawasaki handheld brushcutter.

What's a brushcutter? It's a vicious machine with a spinning blade (tamer versions have spinning plastic wire, this one had a serrated blade) at the end of a long metal shaft, with a little engine. The whole thing is slung on a harness whta you wear, because while it's quite carryable, it's too heavy to hold in the right position while you mow.

I found out, upon arriving at the field itself, why I would need this kind of equipment. The weeds, brambles and nettles were two metres high or more, and so thick that when I cut them near the ground, they stayed held up by the other brambles and nettles around them. The powerful and vicious device I had been given was barely up to the task, and as I cut things down, a cloud of aggravated insects would ascend into the air around me.

The field is now clear of weeds, and I feel an extreme sense of accomplishment that I know is completely unwarranted, but that I haven't felt since I last went rowing several months ago, and that I therefore intend to enjoy!