Dakota Beacon

            True enough, we are creatures of habit. At least, most of us are. Faced with a task, we tend to take the path of least resistance. It is not that we are lazy. But who needs the hassle of reinventing a new way of doing the same old thing every time we attempt a routine task? It is better to develop a system and stick with it.

            Creatures of habit we are. The truth of the matter is, when practiced repeatedly, a habit becomes a ritual, a formal activity performed regularly at recurring intervals. This is true for both good habits and bad.

            Obviously, bad habits have their down side. Consider procrastination for example. As a habit, procrastination, is not good. Here is how it works.

            Spring is no different than any other season. It, too, lends itself to rituals. One of the rituals of spring is preparing the lawn mower for another season of service. It just has to be done. As if joined at the hip, this ritual is related to a bad habit. You guessed it. Procrastination! Somehow lawn mower prep doesn’t get done quickly enough to keep the new, green grass under control.

            “Hope springs eternal in the hearts of men,” says the poet. I have hope. Every spring, hope gets the best of me. Good feelings inevitably breed good intentions. As spring arrives I intend to mow my lawn before the grass grows tall and I have to call in the sheep. Every spring it’s the same old story. Somehow, my good intentions morph into procrastination.

            This year will be different. I know it will be different. Here’s why.

            With snow still on the grass I push the snow blower behind the house and drag the lawn mower back across the new blown path. What a chuckle. One machine needs snow to blow; the other needs snow to make things grow. Placed on the sidewalk the mower is ready for a “once over.”

            Mower preparation is quite simple.  At least, it is for me. I’m not into tinkering or make-work projects. First the spark plug: unscrew it, clean it, replace it. Then, on to the air filter which should have been cleaned last autumn. I wiggled the throttle linkage. It moves. Good. The rest is just a matter of inspection. I’ll worry about blade sharpening and oil change later.

            Meanwhile, I have collected an audience. Birds arranged themselves in an amphitheater of trees to observe the work. A squirrel chatters instructions to me. A neighbor’s cat, always seeking affection, wanders over offering an encouraging rub on the leg. I get the feeling I am directing a stage production.

            Time to crank up the mower. Choke open. Engine brake off. Pull the starter cord. Crank once. Crank twice. On the third try the mower responds. A puff of blue smoke tells me the mower is interested.

            A fourth pull on the cord and the mower springs to life with a vengeance. It coughs and sputters as if awakening from a long winter’s nap. Indeed, the mower awakens some neighbors from their own naps given the racket it created.

            The blue exhaust was expected, but the cloud of snow mixed with dry grass spewing from the chute was not. A wad of compact grass shot from the mower, probably the remains of a mouse nest.

            Lawn mowers and snow blowers sound alike. With snow still on the ground, I trust that folks think I am running the snow blower. That would seem plausible. Too late, however. A car passes and the driver executes a perfect double take. “What!” he must have thought. “A lawn mower blowing snow?” I turn red at the thought.

            My stage production must have shown merit. At the scream of the engine the birds and squirrel scatter. The cat, preferring solitude to friendship, also moves on.

            A few snow flurries fall on the mower, melt and are gone. This kind of snow won’t last.

            For once, I am ahead of the game. I beat procrastination to the punch transitioning from blower to mower. Let the grass grow. I’m ready.