I hope you enjoy this Labor Day weekend, Andalusia. Take it easy. Have some sweet tea. Go to the lake.
I’ll be thinking about Guy Wiggins. You see, Guy is my grandfather and, on top of that, a citizen of fair Andalusia.
I’ll be thinking about my grandfather because he was an executive for many years at the Alabama State Employment Agency and it was his job to make sure
Alabamians could find enough work to let them enjoy Labor day.
But will Mr. Wiggins stop to reflect on his years of public service? I think not.
If I know my grandfather, he’ll be mowing the lawn come Monday.
It’s an odd attraction my grandfather has to his turf. I’m convinced that the men of Andalusia are having a secret grass competition.
It’s the Order of the Green Lawn Engineers (OGLE).
I’ve seen Grandaddy leave the house at mysterious hours. No doubt the men of his neighborhood gather to hold some sort of erass-shortening ritual.
Mounted on their fiery riding mowers they roar over hill and dale with rakes thrust toward the sky; woe be to the blades of grass in their way.
My grandfather’s lawn looks like a golf green. People have actually bent over to touch his yard to see if it was real.
Believe me, it’s real. I’ve mowed it quite a few times.
Mowing Grandaddy’s prized piece of earth is not an undertaking to be considered lightly.
To be asked to mow his lawn is like being in a James Bond movie — you get lots of equipment and a license to kill.
Guy Wiggins has lawn equipment that can not only hack grass – but from the looks of it — I suspect successfully arm a third-world country.
We’re taking mammoth weed whackers, edge trimmers, seed spreaders, electric mowers, push mowers, self-propelled mowers, riding mowers, sprinklers, rakes, hoes, pitch forks, pitch axes, pick axes, saws, tree trimmers, grass catchers, and other implements of destruction.
Grandaddy’s arsenal also contains a few shotguns. Gut was in The BIG ONE and KO-rea (that’s the Second World War and Korea for those of us who weren’t there).
The shotguns are for critters, varmints, mongrels, and sorry relatives who have trouble backing out of his driveway without running over the greenery.
If my grandfather’s shouts of “Hubba hubba, git on outta heah!” and “Cut it to the left, dernit!” don’t get the invaders off the lawn. I shudder to think of the consequences.
So when I turned of mowing age, I got a license to chop. dice, splice, and mutilate from my grandfather.
I was following in the scared traditions of the Order of the Green Lawn Engineers.
The basement of my grandfather’s house smelled like motor oil and cedar. in the corner sat Gertrude the Mower.
Gertrude was about 300-years-old and resented the idea of starting.
To this day, my right arm is longer than my left arm from pulling that cord. I honestly don’t think that cord had anything to do with the actual operation of the machine.
I believe the mower’s combustion engine obtained its spark through friction – starting Gertrude was not unlike rubbing two sticks together to create fire.
Once spark was obtained. Gertrude came to life with a deafening roar and a cloud of blue smoke.
Nuts and bolts shuddered off the beast’s frame. Earth was scalped in a whirling vortex of terror.
Rocks were hurled toward innocent bystanders at startling velocities. I think Gertrude was a B-17 in her former life. I loved her.
So on the occasions when Grandaddy allowed me to guide this smoking, stone-throwing abomination over his lawn I thoroughly enjoyed myself.
Meanwhile, Guy followed me wearing wingtips (anything less would demean the sanctity of his yard) and plucking blades of grass that managed to escape Gertrude.
Together, the two of us managed to bring his lawn to perfection.
Hot, dizzy, and slightly nauseous from the fumes, we would stagger inside and have lemonade and tomato sandwiches. Mission accomplished. Grass mown.
But now I live in New York City where there are no lawns. My grandfather would be bored. What to do on Labor Day?
I could use old Gertrude up here. There are a couple of New Yorkers I’d like her to meet.
And Guy, this Labor Day, mow one down for me.