How my new electric riding lawn mower changed my life

At least around the edges. Or should I say hedges

I’ve been fired twice recently. I didn’t take it personally. I had it coming — or rather my property did.

The first time was at the hands of my pool guy. He politely suggested that for all of our sakes I buy one of those pool-cleaning robots. After getting over the shock that our pool constituted such a challenge that somebody was willing to turn down good money to get me out of his life, I saw his point.

So I’m proud to report that after opening up the pool this spring our pool crew hasn’t had to return at all. And the pool has never been in better shape. All that’s been required, besides constant vigilance, is copious quantities of chlorine in both liquid and tablet form.

Beyond the bracing sense of agency my newly discovered competence lends me, I’ve become something of a hero to my family, forcing them to admit that I’m not entirely good for nothing.

But it’s my latest firing that has put me in that pantheon where you often hear names such as Brady, Jordan and Federer bandied about. It happened when I was unceremoniously dismissed by the gentleman that mows our lawn.

I can hear you rumbling: What’s the big deal? Who do you think you are, some movie star? Most people vacuum their own pools and mow their own lawns.

Yeah, but our lawn is approximately the size of a golf course. Describing it as nine holes doesn’t even start to describe the challenge unless we’re talking about one of those links courses along the Scottish coast shaped by wind and rain and the last ice age. Our lawn has been estimated at eight acres. I don’t know who came up with the number. How would you even measure it? Could be more. Could be slightly less. But it’s not the size that matters as much as the woodchuck holes, the rock outcroppings, the vertiginous slopes and, of course, the branches and even whole trees that tumble across the lawn after a good storm. This is where lawn maintenance equipment goes to die.

So after my lawn guy quit and I finished dabbing my tears, I knew what had to be done.

Actually, he’s the one that suggested that I buy a riding mower after I insulted him by popping the idea that some parts of the property needed to be mowed only once a month in the dog days of summer rather than every two weeks. He refused to subject his equipment to such disrespect.

Why don’t I just let the lawn revert to fields? Isn’t that what all the cool kids are doing to attract pollinators and save the planet? No way. Most of our property is woods. Deep woods. I think of the area around the house as an oasis of order and civility. In a world that seems on the brink of chaos, a gently groomed greensward fills me with a sense of well-being.

But I think I’ve come up with a Solomonic solution to avoid cutting the baby in half: an electric riding mower. I first experienced one at my friend David’s house. He swears by it and told me it changed his life; maybe I’m exaggerating, but not entirely. He invited me to take a spin. I was instantly smitten. I had no idea how well it cut his lawn — a fraction of the size of ours — but it was lots of fun to drive.

I wasn’t willing to pull the trigger (actually, insert the plug) then and there. These machines don’t come cheap. Yet when my lawn guy made my decision for me, I hopped on over to Lowe’s and, after a lot of hesitation and the couple of return visits required of a big-ticket item, I made the purchase.

There’s something of a learning curve involved, starting with the fact that, at my friend’s suggestion, I bought the model that has bars that maneuver the machine right and left, backwards and forwards, rather than a steering wheel. The advantage, David explained, is that you never have to pause to put the equipment in reverse. Also, it boasts zero turning radius. And for those as superficial as I am, it has really cool lights, cup holders and a USB port.

My wife wasn’t entirely on board. She thought that mowing the lawn requires physical stamina and that I wasn’t getting any younger. After I pointed out all the extremely unhealthy looking people behind the wheels of their lawn mowers she conceded that I had a point.

Her other more legitimate concern was that I might kill myself — that in my enthusiasm I’d tackle some incline or precipice and the mower would flip, pinning me underneath. I’ve already come close a couple of times. I do well on flat terrain, to the extent that we have any lawn that conforms to that crimped definition, but the machine seems to have a mind of its own on steep slopes. I’ve attempted one of those advertised zero turns and suddenly find myself careening into a ditch or hugging a tree.

But I’m learning, even if there are occasional moments of sheer terror. The mower has three modes, “standard” being my favorite so far. It will be a while, or forever, before I graduate to “sport” mode. The machine comes with four batteries, allowing one to mow two acres at a time. I bought two extra, given the size of the challenge, that allows me to subdue three acres of grass, weeds, twigs and tree limbs, though I try to avoid those. I haven’t timed how long it takes to recharge the batteries, but not very long using regular household current, and I feel extremely virtuous while it does so.

Best of all, I’m not at the mercy of third parties anymore, helplessly watching the grass grow high as I await their next visit and wonder if they’ve quit without telling me. Most of all, when I’m not risking death, it’s fun. It offers the thrill that getting behind the wheel of a go-kart does a child. Not that I’d know. My overprotective parents didn’t let me do much of that when I was young. I’m making up for it now.