Life on the cutting edge

Jun 14 2013 - 12:54pm



Heat with radiating lines and the sizzling sound that accompanies it, attacks every available surface.

My skin is already starting to become hot to the touch. The intense white sun beats down on the pale skin of my body and I sigh.

I can hear the songs of the birds returned from winter. Their bright songs call to a smile inside me. I can hear the whisper of the leaves on the breeze blowing through the trees. Clank-clank-clank goes the fence as the weeds brush against it with force.

High above, hardly a cloud sits in the sky. The sun no longer triumphs high, but is starting its journey down for the day. The frogs have come out to play. Croak- ribbet, croak-ribbet, they repeatedly say. Bugs galore come out, too; swarms flit around in anticipation of nighttime parties.

Once again a sigh escapes my lips and I see the beckoning of the green grass. Gingerly, I let the spiky tendrils wrap around my shoe-clad foot. With a last look to the sky and a wave goodbye to the songs of the birds and frogs, I begin the task laid before me.

With hesitation I grip the handle, raising my arm at the ready, and amid all the beauty and despite my worries about consequences -- I pull the lever to start the lawn mower.

I know what the reader must be thinking at this point. "Wait, the story said cutting! She said goodbye! She was going to cut herself!"

Not so. The simple explanation for this rather striking introduction to my experience of mowing the lawn is drama. It had to be dramatic. On a hot day I was up against the task of mowing the 6-inch lawn, which had been forgotten for a while. Because of the length of the grass and the size of my yard, it took 2 1/2 hours.

Fortunately, I didn't mind. I loved the feeling of the hot sun beating down on me, the smell of the fresh-cut grass, my green-stained hands. I loved the feel of my muscles as the mower strained over the tall thick grass and I needed to rescue it.

There comes a time in everyone's life, hopefully, that they realize being nice, neat, pretty and put together isn't everything. If one cannot have a fun time because they are too worried about appearances and what their hair will look like after, one needs to reevaluate their life. I enjoyed stuffing the cut grass that had fallen out of the bag back in and seeing the dirt under my fingernails accumulate as a result.

After I was finished I felt accomplished, and I knew I had done something because of the forming callouses and blisters on my hand, the muscles aching in my arms and legs, and the green stains all over my arms, legs and shoes.

It was a great day -- cutting.

Taylor Deem is a junior at Fremont High School. Email her at

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