On lawn mowers and safety

I just edited a health column for The Weekly Journal about lawn mower safety. It has valuable tips in it, about things that can happen to you while you’re mowing.

The advice in the column is sound, but it doesn’t cover all the things that can “get you” while you’re mowing your grass.

The column (which you can see here at the Journal site, of course) mentions the problem of being struck by things that fly out of the mower’s blades—rocks, sticks, etc.

As you all know, rocks are not of great concern here in the coastal flats.

That’s why I was so surprised one summer, when I ran our mower over what sounded like rocks or gravel. I heard small, hard things hitting the blades as I pushed the mower over a spot near our gate. As the hard things flew out from under the mower and pelted me, I thought, “Rocks? Where the hell did rocks come from?”

It quickly became evident that they were not rocks. When they came hurtling out from under the mower, they were mad as hornets. Ground hornets. They stung me on the browbone, the collarbone, the knee and twice on one shoulder. Then I was mad as a hornet, too.

I thought I’d left ground hornets back home in Tulsa—I had never encountered them here before. I welcomed them to the area employing what I call the “scorched-earth plan.” I have a great respect for wildlife, until it bites or stings me.

One year our neighbors had a wall full of bees that came and went where the central air conditioning unit went into their house. The big dog got stung on the nose a few times, because she’s never learned not to snuffle bees when they’re working on the flowers (she also has never learned not to carry toads around because they make her foam at the mouth for hours). She got stung on the nose quite a few times, but the bees otherwise ignored us.

Until one day the whole bee collective evidently became incensed by the mower, and came after me with a vengeance. They swarmed around the machine for a good hour after I abandoned it and ran for the house.

Not long after that, the neighbors had the bees removed, because the buzzing kept them awake at night. I was in favor of having them executed, but settled for the deportation.

The late Dutch, the German Shepherd with whom I shared my life for 16 years, viewed lawn mowing as entertainment. As I pushed the mower haplessly around the yard, unable to hear his approach, he would come from nowhere, bite me on the butt, then run away. Repeatedly.

The column about lawn mower safety has some good advice in it, and you should read it. But it probably should have contained some advice on being attacked while mowing. To compensate for the omission, I offer you advice from my own experience.

Run like hell.