Uncle Byrd and the Father’s Day Lawnmower

When Teddy was a little boy and growing up in the Midwest, the sights, smells, and sounds of summer were the best. Winter was always too long for a nine-year-old, but when the springtime rain was finally finished being messy and sending muddy footprints onto Mom’s carpet, and the trees began to explode with leaves and baby walnuts, summer vacation was about the best thing that could ever happen.

Teddy especially liked his Uncle Byrd in the summer. Even though Uncle Byrd was practically ancient and sometimes had a hard time hearing and moving around fast, he always had time for Teddy when the excitement of summer became as irresistible as ice cream.

Because mother and father were busy working and were away at two different offices for practically the entire day—and for all of the week—Uncle Byrd was in charge of the house and the yard when everyone else was away.

The yard was gigantic! A grove of apple trees stretched out to almost forever, and at night, when the air became soft, the lightning bugs would appear and telegraph messages to each other that had to be Top Secret. During the days that were long and wonderful, the big walnut trees were giants with arms that were reaching over all the porches and patios, but this was only when the leaves were out and the little walnuts were growing. It was important to know about the growing walnuts in their tiny little skins that stain the heck out of t-shirts and jeans. Especially if anyone was stupid enough to make Mom mad and collect the little nuts for slingshot ammunition.

One of the best parts of the week was when Uncle Byrd decided it was time to mow the grass. When the lawnmower started cutting the grass, the whole world smelled wonderful. There was nothing like the oil and gas smell of the big red Jacobson lawn mower cutting down the upstarts of grass that were trying to grow into a rising force and thwart Uncle Byrd and his army tank of a lawnmower.

There were, however, rules about cutting the grass. After Mom and Dad were away at work, and Uncle Byrd made breakfast—that was sometimes pancakes, or eggs, or just cereal out of the box—Teddy and Uncle Byrd would head outside to examine the grass.

If the dew was too heavy and the grass was too wet, Uncle Byrd would know it. Wet grass was “hard on the machinery.” When the rain was holding off, and some of Mom’s flowers were starting to droop, this was another important signal on when not to mow the grass. “No one with any sense would mow in a dry spell.”

As Uncle Byrd explained and Teddy listened, mowing the grass on such a big yard was important and was “a job of work that had to be done right.”

When the perfect day finally did arrive, and Uncle Byrd asked Teddy if all the conditions were right, it was an important question. This was because even though Uncle Byrd already knew the answer, the question was actually a test. It was not too hard to understand that Uncle Byrd’s questions were to see if Teddy was really learning anything, or if he just wanted to climb up on the tractor and ride through the lightning bug lawn that wove between the apple orchard and the walnut trees that were always dropping the little missiles for the slingshot.

When the big red Jacobson came out of the “barn”—that was really the garage—that always smelled like sawdust and old oil—it was almost as good as when Uncle Byrd climbed up on the seat with his mowing pants and suspenders and pressed the starter button. When the motor started with a roar and a puff of smoke, and the mower began to rattle and shake, the attack on the grass was about to begin.

According to Uncle Byrd, knowing how to mow the lawn was almost as important as knowing when to mow the lawn. As Teddy sat beside the best uncle in the whole world and rode on the bench seat, the right way to mow the lawn was something that Teddy knew he would never forget.

To mow a yard the “Uncle Byrd Way,” the mower must start on the outside and work, row-by-row, in toward the middle and then the end.

After Teddy became a grownup, the people at work began to call him Theodore. When he was married and moved to Florida for what people were calling retirement, his wife called him Theodore only when she was mad at him. This was almost like when Mom got mad about the muddy footprints and green stains from the baby walnuts that stained the heck out of everything.

Because Teddy loved his wife just about a million times more than he ever could love anyone else—even Mom, Dad, and even Uncle Byrd- he knew he was in trouble whenever his wife called him Theodore.

When she secretly surprised him with an awesome ride-behind lawn mower for Father’s Day, he began to remember the right way and the wrong way to mow the yard and everything about his summers with Uncle Byrd.

The yard in Florida was much smaller, but when Teddy fired up the new motor and began to smell the grass he was cutting, he was right back with Uncle Byrd on the bench seat of the old Jacobson.

When he started around the yard from the outside and began working his way toward the middle and the end, he became Theodore again when his wife came out yelling.

Apparently, it was not nostalgic for her when he kept passing the bedroom window about every ten minutes when she was trying to take a nap.