Originally published by The Clifton Courier, July 15, 2020

I’ve snapped.

I’ve gone months of deprivation of one of the biggest sources of elation in my life. I’d managed to put it out of my mind for a long time, but when something gives you so much bliss, you can only go for so long without it before you start getting the cravings. The hunger eats away at your willpower like cola eroding a human tooth.

You try to find the satisfaction in other ways. Cleaning the stovetop. Intensive vacuuming. Shining up the taps in the bathroom. Anything to take your mind off the one thing you can’t have.

And, look, that can be pretty satisfying, don’t get me wrong. But when you’ve got a particular itch you need to scratch, meticulously cleaning the bathroom isn’t going to cut it.

Of course, I’m referring to mowing the lawn.

I’m well aware that we’re in the height (or is that the depths?) of winter. And I know that winter isn’t the time to be mowing the lawn. It’s the season when the mower goes into hibernation deep in the darkness of its garden shed cave, surviving off the stores of fat it built up of the summer months.

Winter outdoor jobs include cutting firewood and backburning and clearing space for a garden bed you’re going to end up ignoring after the first few weeks of spring.

Mowing is not a winter job.

But it’s been a relatively mild winter in my neck of the woods. Aside from that one weekend where it felt like I was back in Armidale, the weather has been pretty pleasant.

Now, I know it sounds like I’m bragging to you all, what with the frosts and icy Darling Downs winds, but if it makes you feel any better, keep in mind that Brisbane gets very hot and sticky in summer to the point where one’s thighs fuse with plastic seating.

We haven’t had a lot of rain here, but there was enough of a rain and sun combo to encourage the grass to do a bit of growin’.

It’s not as if the backyard looked like a jungle or anything, but it was a little untidy. It’s kind of like when your bed has a few crinkles in it and you can’t resist pulling the quilt taught so it looks like no one uses the furniture or even lives in your house.

There was no pressing need to mow.

It wasn’t about safety – I assume the snakes fly north for the winter so there’s probably none of those slithery bois lurking around in the grass. And it’s not a house inspection thing – the people I live with own the place so the only people I need to impress to keep living in the joint is them and I think I’ve already done a pretty good job of that (I’m think they keep me on because of my A+ banter on the house whiteboard).

It’s more of a compulsion thing.

I was missing that feeling you just can’t get from other household chores. I mean, finally cleaning that stubborn soap scum from the shower comes close, but less people see that.

Of course, when there’s a sense of guilty pleasure there’s also the compulsion to hide what you’re doing. But mowing the lawn is very public; those machines aren’t quiet. The neighbours would definitely hear. And I knew what they’d be thinking:

“It’s winter. You don’t mow the lawn in winter. And if you’re going to mow the lawn in winter, which you defs shouldn’t do, you probably shouldn’t do it before the sun has a chance to wake up properly and dry the morning dew off the lawn.”

Would they think I was a fool? Would they think I had a mowing problem? Would they think I was sending a passive aggressive message by using loud machinery in suburbia at 9am?

But you can’t live your life worrying about what the neighbours might think.

I also really, really wanted to mow. So I started that mower anyway.

And when the motor roared, the smell of cut crass wafted into the air and I could see that first length of crisp lawn, all of those thoughts drifted away.

My reward was that sense of satisfaction  you can’t get from completing any other task…and the sound of someone else’s mower running in the distance.