How we laughed at those silly Yanks, on arrival from lawnless London. “We will mow, we will mow!” we droned Dalek style, as we watched them whizz endlessly, zero turning like ballerinas, crossing and re-crossing acres of hallowed turf. A year later, craving the green green grass of a home, we bought a house and settled down. The suburb had seduced us with its oaks and lush yards. Its enormous, lush yards. Though we struggled, and denied, first with a push mower, then a lawn service, resistance was eventually futile. Off to Sears we went, for the 54-inch deck.



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