The Hissing of Summer Lawn Mowers

In our little suburban neighborhood it is the men that barbecue the steaks and cut the lawns. Of course, lots of women everywhere cut grass and sear meat over flame—although, don’t look at me. I’m just saying that in our little corner of the world these tasks mostly appear to fall on males. And judging from Father’s Day advertising put out by national retailers, North America agrees. Or maybe it was the advertisers that created this identity in the first place. I suspect so. I recall images in my 1950s youth of “Dads” cooking burgers on the grill and happily cutting the lawn.

That’s the way it worked at our house.  Mind you, grass-cutting wasn’t really my Dad’s forte. He passed that task off to my brother as though it were a rite of passage. I begged Dad to let me cut the postage-sized lawn we had in the city. I loved the sound of the old push mower. But I was defeated soundly by, “NO! That’s not a job for girls!” I finally got my way when my brother married and moved out of the house.  

Dad did excel at cook-outs, however. We had a series of barbecues over the years that were essentially rectangular metal boxes on legs. Filled with charcoal briquettes and set ablaze with the assist of lighter fluid, the hot coals would reach “ready,” oh, anywhere from an hour to two days. Dad specialized in wieners and burgers in the early days, but as BBQ technology advanced, he took on roasts and chickens. He loved using the rotisserie, even though I don’t think he ever got a bird on the spit balanced enough so that an afternoon spent outdoors wouldn’t be accompanied by “whirrrrrr-CHUMP-whirrrrrrr-CHUMP” as one off-center drumstick dragged through the coals on the downward rotation. It was the soundtrack of our summers at the cottage.

Now that we have a home of our own, we have a grass cutting service.  Two Lawn Hunks arrive, cut, weed-whack, edge and blow the cuttings away within a whirl of a half hour.  But grilling is indeed my man’s domain. We grill a lot in the summer. Gas barbecue. Modern food choices for today’s open flame technology: fish, veggies, fruit. He likes the challenge of multiple items that require different cooking times and temperatures. It’s totally manly.

I am not the first to suggest that this male-dominated past time harkens back to the discovery of fire and the first cooking of mammoth meat over a bonfire. When Ken and our next door neighbor are out barbecuing at the same time, talking at the garden fence with beers in their hands, I can’t help thinking of Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble.  

But I still wonder whenever the Dad’s Day flyers arrive, “Really? A good Father’s Day gift is barbecue tongs? Or a Toro?”

We were sitting on our screened porch on a warm, breezy evening recently when a succession of neighbors (men) powered up their gas mowers. I am totally aggravated by gas mowers. I launched into my usual tirade about how loud and obnoxious they are.

“You’d think if they can put a man on the moon,” I ranted to Ken, “they’d be able to come up with a quiet lawn mower.”

“They have,” he said, barely containing the “Yes, Dear” tone, “The guy across the street has one of those battery pack electric models. You can hardly hear it.”

“Yeah, O.K., but why doesn’t everybody buy one of those?”

That’s when it hit me! “Wait a sec! Loud lawn mowers?  Earsplitting weed whackers? And for that matter, deafening power tools? Thunderous motorcycles? Men just aren’t into quiet stuff!”  

So, here’s my theory. Guys like making noise. They like making fire. It’s in their DNA from way back! They probably think lawn mowers and gas grills are great gifts.  So, Happy Father’s Day to men everywhere. I hope someone gets you yard stuff with decibel readings totally off the charts – or at least an apron that says “Licensed to Grill.”

Pass me some ear plugs and a fire extinguisher.