One Girl Went To Mow…

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I’ve started mowing the fields. Very late this year, due to a series of calamities and necessary service adjustments that put my essential vehicle in the tractor hospital for several months (“supply-chain issues”): a leaky hydraulic hose, worn tires, and a–not-required, but I thought wise–thorough going-over at her coming-of-age twenty-first birthday anniversary. (I poured myself a drink when she came home, just to celebrate. And checked her radiator fluid to make sure she was well-hydrated too.)

She’s laughably small beer when it comes to real farming (a 29HP New Holland), but she does the job for me, and we’ve come to understand each other over the years. I’m very respectful of her rather unyielding idiosyncrasies and her sometimes snappish behavior when it comes to changing her implements, and of her occasionally peculiar reactions to my (always civil) requests vis-a-vis steering and direction. In return, she stays vertical, and–so far at least–has kept me whole, unlike poor Mr. She, who lost half an index finger in an entanglement between our previous (bigger) brush hog and a high-tensile electric fence. Not really the tractor’s fault. But she was there.

(Over the years, I’ve taken dozens of small city children on gentle tractor rides. They’re almost always accompanied by a parental admonition of “be careful, these machines really want to tip over.” And I have to explain, every time that–actually–“these machines want to stay upright. Barring a really freakish and unavoidable circumstance, it’s almost always the fools in charge of them who are responsible for tipping them over.” So far, so good, even when the gears let go that awful day and I went freewheeling down the hill. Very. Scary. Especially starting her up again and getting her back to the top.)

Yesterday, I dismounted the backhoe, hooked up the mower, and took them for a spin in the acre across the road. We bought that acre, which is separate from the other twenty-nine, for only one reason: We wanted to prevent anyone from building a house that close to our own. Even back then (late ’80s), we recognized that ex-urban types who moved to the country for the “space,” very often bought a piece of land of indeterminate size, and then took inordinate care to build their houses on it as close to the nearest existing dwelling as possible. And, antisocial types that we were, we wanted to pre-empt that.

So there I was, yesterday afternoon, mowing away regardless–or irregardless as the case may be–and apropos of nothing, I started to hum, and then sing, One Man Went To Mow :

One man went to mow Went to mow a meadow One man and his dog** Went to mow a meadow.

Two men went to mow Went to mow a meadow Two men, one man and his dog Went to mow a meadow.

Lather, rinse, repeat for as many men (but only one dog) as you like.

This–of course–put me in mind of Ten Green Bottles, and then–one I learned later in life–99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall. (I see, in looking that one up on YouTube that there are now a number of bowderlerized, non-triggering, child-safe versions of “99 Bottles of Pop on the Wall.” Crimenutely. Is nothing sacred?

Having made it through all of those–in the case of “99 Bottles of Beer,” considerably more coherently than the guy in Midnight Run), and relieved that even at the advanced age of 67 I still seem to be able to count both up and down, at least in terms of whole numbers, I searched the cubby-holes of my mind and started on Ilkley Moor Baht ‘At. Not a “counting” song like the others, but another of those jolly sing-alongs so loathed by Mr. She, who always attributed his dislike of songs with roaring and repetitive leitmotifs to his having been born and grown up three floors above a bar on Pittsburgh’s South Side, and lying awake at all hours of the night listening to the drunks downstairs mangling their way through “How Much is that Doggie in the Window.” My family, and even his children, loved them, though, and they got us through many a long car ride and some difficult times over the years.

I ran out of songs about the same time I finished mowing and–hot and sweaty–came inside for a cold drink. I’ve never really been a pop/soda drinker myself, but occasionally I really crave something ice-cold and sweet. So I took some of my homemade lemon syrup out of the fridge, put a slug in the bottom of a glass, and filled it up with fizzy water.

“That’s odd,” I thought to myself. “Where did all those bits of grass come from?” Because the glass was full of bits of green (and other) stuff. I figured they must have shaken out of my hair, or off my clothes, but there were so many of them I poured it away, reached into the fridge for the syrup, and started again. That’s when I realized that, instead of the bottle of lemon syrup, I’d picked up the similarly-sized and shaped bottle of Panera’s lemon salad dressing, and that the bits of what I thought were hay were actually flakes of dried basil and bits of Parmesan cheese…Good grief.

Fortunately Sadly, we had strong thunderstorms and about 3/4″ of rain overnight. So mowing is off today. No worries, there’s plenty else to do. I’d gladly get started if only I could think of a song to go with.

Do you have a favorite childhood sing-along song? One you’ve never forgotten, and still makes you smile? Please share.

** I did not take the dog (now eight months old and over 100lbs) with me. Odo, heavy motorized equipment, and a field full of small, running animals (I mow very slowly to give them a chance to get out of the way. And they do) is a recipe for certain disaster of one sort or another.

She: Do you have a favorite childhood sing-along song?

She: One you’ve never forgotten, and still makes you smile?

She: Do you have a favorite childhood sing-along song?

She: One you’ve never forgotten, and still makes you smile?

Oh what fun! First, the thought of fresh-cut grass makes my nose itch. (An old allergy reaction!) And since I grew up in the suburbs, I find your tractor awesomely intimidating! Finally, one of my favorite songs: Down by the Old Mill Stream (which must be sung out of tune and slowly).

One more finally, I’m still grinning at your salad dressing refresher! Thanks for the smile.

29 HP means that you have 27 more than Great-Grandpap started with. Those two HP were named Tom and Becky, and they had nothing to do with New Holland, old Holland, or any other Holland.

She: ** I did not take the dog (now 8 months old and over 100lbs) with me. Odo, heavy motorized equipment, and a field full of small, running, animals (I mow very slowly to give them a chance to get out of the way. And they do) is a recipe for certain disaster of one sort or another.

Over the years there have been a lot of three-legged farm dogs, and maybe three-legged farm cats, too, that know whereof you speak (if you’re talking about a sickle-bar mower).

I remember two childhood songs, from the same place. I was about 11 when I first went to B’nai B’rith summer camp in Oregon. I can remember being on the bus from Portland to camp at Devil’s Lake. That’s when I learned “99 bottles of beer on the wall”.

When we arrived, I learned “We’re here because we’re here” (continue ad infinitum).

Music makes powerful memories, doesn’t it? Almost as powerful as smell.

Oh what fun! First, the thought of fresh-cut grass makes my nose itch. (An old allergy reaction!) And since I grew up in the suburbs, I find your tractor awesomely intimidating!

I’ll pass that along. She’ll be chuffed.

Finally, one of my favorite songs: Down by the Old Mill Stream (which must be sung out of tune and slowly).

That’s a great one! Many years ago, the craft stores sold unfinished plaster of Paris “Christmas houses” that you could paint and decorate yourself. They were cheap, and we didn’t have a lot of money, so I went through a phase of collecting and painting them. I suppose I have about a dozen. One is a little mill, whose wheel is connected to a music-box player inside. Turn the wheel, and it plays “Down By the Old Mill Stream.” I love it.

Made me think of “In the Good Old Summertime,” which might be of about the same vintage (early 20th Century)?

She: Do you have a favorite childhood sing-along song? One you’ve never forgotten, and still makes you smile? Please share.

A peanut sittin’ on a railroad track His heart was all-aflutter A train came rolling down the track Choo-choo! Peanut butter!

Taught to me by the uncle who liberated Rome twice. He also taught me the lyrics to “Waltzin’ Matilda.”

The uncle who spent the beginning of the war fixing planes in North Africa before contributing to the oversupply of Americans in England taught me:

I’ve got sixpence Jolly, jolly sixpence I’ve got sixpence to last me all my life I’ve got tuppence to spend And tuppence to lend And tuppence to send home to my wife-poor wife.

No cares have I to grieve me No pretty little girls to deceive me I’m happy as a lark believe me As we go rolling, rolling home Rolling home (rolling home) Rolling home (rolling home) By the light of the silvery moo-oo-on Happy is the day when we line up for our pay As we go rolling, rolling home.

RushBabe49 (View Comment): Music makes powerful memories, doesn’t it? Almost as powerful as smell.

It really does. I remember, during the course of my mother’s dementia, how she could instantly be transported back to a happy place when she heard a song that brought back good memories, especially from the distant past. I think music therapy of that sort is regularly incorporated into patient care now.

Reminds me, I need to get down to my cousin’s farm and do some hogging.

She: Do you have a favorite childhood sing-along song? One you’ve never forgotten, and still makes you smile? Please share.

A peanut sittin’ on a railroad track His heart was all-aflutter A train came rolling down the track Choo-choo! Peanut butter!

Taught to me by the uncle who liberated Rome twice. He also taught me the lyrics to “Waltzin’ Matilda.”

The uncle who spent the beginning of the war fixing planes in North Africa before contributing to the oversupply of Americans in England taught me:

I’ve got sixpence Jolly, jolly sixpence I’ve got sixpence to last me all my life I’ve got tuppence to spend And tuppence to lend And tuppence to send home to my wife-poor wife.

Love this comment! I didn’t know the “Choo Choo” one, but the others I do. (BTW, you seem to have a most excellent selection of avuncular relatives.)

“I’ve Got Sixpence” was taken by Cadbury’s and used as the jingle for their ‘chocolate buttons,’ small flat disks of chocolates that came (I expect they still do) in a kid-size little bag for–once upon a time, guess what–sixpence! Grandpa almost always had a bag in his jacket pocket.

I couldn’t find it on YouTube, which only seems to have Buttons ads from the 80s and beyond, but the ‘lyrics’ are on this page:

Buy some buttons, jolly, jolly buttons, Buy some buttons, they’ll last you all the day. When you’ve sixpence to spend You’ll have buttons to lend, And buttons to last you while you play!

They say it’s from 1970, but I’d bet my life–or at least a bag of chocolate buttons– that it’s from 8-10 years earlier.

You have come to my mind a few times in recent days as the Great Pyrenees that is supposed to be guarding the horses on the ranch to the south of our suburban housing development has been spending more time wandering our suburban yards than doing his guard duty. He really should be on duty since a couple of mornings ago I saw a coyote in the parking lot of the Mormon church across the road. (This is all in north central Texas.)

What’s Yer tractor’s name?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zh40qNSG9fo

These guys have one of those mini-Fords

Full Size Tabby (View Comment):

Shades of the late and still very much lamented, Levi, The Greatest Pyrenees of all. I always say:

He’d been arrested and court-martialed at the farm up the road, and dishonorably discharged from service for, among other infractions: insubordination, sleeping on duty, loafing, several attendance related offenses, and repeatedly deserting his post. Since our farm was the one he’d deserted his post for, over and over again, his CO simply gave him to us (the penalties for such offenses for four-legged grunts being less severe, it appears than those for their two-legged counterparts. In fact, if you asked Levi, he’d probably say he made out like a bandit on the deal.)

They’re very gentle, very bright, but also very stubborn, dogs. Perhaps some of them just aren’t cut out for guard duty.

We bought that acre, which is separate from the other twenty-nine, for only one reason: We wanted to prevent anyone from building a house that close to our own. Even back then (late 80s), we recognized that ex-urban types who moved to the country for the “space,” very often bought a piece of land of indeterminate size, and then took inordinate care to build their houses on it as close to the nearest existing dwelling as possible. And, antisocial types that we were, we wanted to pre-empt that.

I wish more rural landowners understood that buying the land is the best way prevent unwanted development. Too many insist on using zoning and other government impositions to try to control land they do not own, and thus to impose their desires onto others. Not that long ago an acquaintance noted that he and his immediate neighbors were concerned that the owner of a nearby piece of property put it up for sale, and that the neighbors might not like what a new owner would do with the property. They were busy lobbying the town for a zoning change to prevent the unwanted development. I suggested my acquaintance and his neighbors buy the property themselves. He looked at me like I was deranged. But, if they really don’t want the property developed, the most fair way to ensure that is to buy the property themselves.

She: Do you have a favorite childhood sing-along song?

She: One you’ve never forgotten, and still makes you smile?

Your late childhood, I hope.

What’s Yer tractor’s name?

Little Blue. Generally we get along very well, but when we have a falling out, that’s what my language becomes.

She: Do you have a favorite childhood sing-along song?

She: One you’ve never forgotten, and still makes you smile?

Your late childhood, I hope.

Nine or ten years old . . . the song had to do with Hot Shoppes. Anyone remember those?

About a year ago my son bought a brand new Kubota tractor. He said the prices of used tractors were ridiculously high, so new made sense. Also he said with new equipment the dealer would configure exactly the hydraulic lines my son wanted for the accessories he desired. I think he bought a 25 hp model, as that is apparently the highest capacity that can be had without Diesel Exhaust Fluid (DEF) requirements. He uses it more for brush and stump removal than for mowing. But it sure does simplify tasks he previously did by hand. Hydraulics have made a lot of tasks so much easier than they used to be.