Hard Rock Country

"Sometimes, there just aren't enough rocks" Forrest said to Jennie.

Well, Forrest should have sent Jennie to my house where rocks mate and produce offspring faster than my husband and his shiny new lawnmower can get rid of them. Just when I think there is not another rock left on the planet, Hubby finds a brand new family of them hiding in the grass like hornets. Each time I think he has mowed over and slung the last surviving rock into the next county, he discovers a new batch.

The man has never met a lawnmower he couldn't destroy. So far in the eight years we've been married, he has managed to completely demolish nine lawnmowers of his own and the one he borrowed from our neighbor. With his patronage alone, the owners of Mowers-R-Us have been able to put all six of their kids through college.

Not to mention his contribution to the lumber industry. Our neighborhood resembles a town along the gulf coast during hurricane season. At the first sign of Spring, when mowing season begins, the neighbors immediately begin nailing plywood over their windows. Reports of Hubby's intent to mow are announced on the six o'clock news. Sometimes they interrupt the regularly scheduled programing for a lawnmower alert.

The local weather forecast goes something like this:
"Expect partly cloudy skies this evening, with a twenty percent chance of rain by morning. Northwest winds 10 mph or less. Temperatures will be in the low to mid sixties and Mr. Hubby will be mowing his lawn this evening. We strongly urge all the folks in that area to be on the alert. At the first sound of a lawnmower, seek shelter in a basement or a closet. Stay tuned to this station in the event of an emergency evacuation."

These aren't all little tiny pebbles either; most of them are full grown rocks. And hubby never misses a single one. He manages to hit each rock at least twice. Once on the forward sweep and again on the backward drag. They pepper the house in a musical rhythm reminding me of the intro to the old 60's tune called 'Wipe Out'. Add in a little fife music and it would sound like a regiment of Revolutionary War soldiers marching through the neighborhood. On the few times I go outside to help him, I wear goggles and a helmet. Listen, I might look dumb walking around in hundred-degree temperatures wearing this garb, but I learned my lesson after the first three trips to the ER for stitches. I still suffer from brain damage.

The county elected to put up a big yellow caution sign near the house with an arrow pointing toward our yard with lights flashing the words: HUBBY MOWING. No one will drive by the house when the caution light is on except the Wells Fargo truck or someone driving a tank. Terrified parents rush outside and drag their children to safety. The dogs cower under the front porch and the cattle kneel in the fields in an attempt to dodge the sparks and the rocks flying from beneath the wheels of the roaring machine pushed by a madman with no shirt at a speed of thirty-five miles per hour.

When it's finally safe to go outside again, I walk around the house and survey the carnage. I count the broken windows and the holes in the siding. The house looks like the aftermath of a drive-by shooting, or like it's been attacked by Zorro with an AK47 instead of a sword. I point out the shattered panes in the bay window. Hubby shrugs and reminds me that the window needed replacing anyway...after all it's three month old. I just smile and nod. He assures me he will pick up a replacement window on his way to get a new lawnmower.

I heave a sigh of relief that mowing season will soon be over. Then I remember the leaf blower he bought last winter. I run to the garage and read the operating instructions on the box. It reads: Precaución: Motor de gran alcance. Utilice el cuidado extremo al trabajar en un área que contenga rocas.

Well, kiss my burrito! I can't read Spanish! Nor French nor German. But I'm betting a brand new Snapper self-propelled mower-mulcher that if I could have found any English on the box it would have said: Warning. High velocity. Use with extreme caution in rocky areas?

Maybe I should phone the manufacturer. Maybe I'd better warn the neighbors. I have a headache. Did I mention I suffer from brain damage...