The curb side discount electric lawn mower has died. The bearings are gone on the electric motor, so no point in repair. The battery was loosing it’s ability to make it half way around the yard anyway. So out with the rotory mower, and back in with the reel mower. Eugene Klein, who fished our local waters, and kept a garden next door, had a reel mower that he used well into his 50’s. At some point it broke and he finally joined everyone else and purchased a Lawnboy gas mower, so the sound of cutting grass finally changed in his part of our neighborhood. All of the sudden, the late evening lawn mowing was no longer an option. City ordinances had already addressed complaints between neighbors across the region. Soon, their language would be generalized to address the use of their string trimmers, wood chippers, and other noisy two cycle motor driven power tools. Ultimately, power washers, and leaf blowers would fall under their authority as well. Instead of rakes edgers, and leaf sweepers powered by muscle, everything had either an electric or small gas powered element to it.

Mr. Klein never turned to the rototiller. He had long established a well aerated soil structure, composting his fish remains along with yard waste. My brother’s dog so loved to excavate and roll around in that stuff when I tried it in mom’s flower garden. And did he ever have the tomato and green bean crops. We always had plenty of fish in our freezer, fresh tomatoes, beans, and cucumbers on our table, followed by rhubarb for mom’s pies. Friday evenings during the summer, we ate like kings even though dad’s business was in start-up. And they were all thanks to Mr. Klein’s habitual use of a garden fork and skill with his spinning rod. The Lawn-boy and the garden fork used for traditional vegetable and flower gardening seem at odds in this time of global warming, but were completely compatible to a guy who grew up in Northern Wisconsin’s logging camps. Pick the right tool for the job and maintain it until it can’t be fixed. Fishing on Lake Winnebago from a wooden boat with an old Evinrude Motor and a pair of oars, Mr. Kline showed me how to use the wind while drift fishing for walleye pike on early mornings or overcast days, depending upon which shift he worked. He motored out until we lined up the center Elm tree with the radio tower, and another elm tree with a silo, and low and behold, the depth of the anchor went from 15 feet to 7 when he had me drop it in. We were right over the rock pile off of Garlic Island which the walleyes used like a corner hangout. He took me out to further his limit, but I was the one who took home the fillets those summer days. We used his home made jigs, poured from a piece of lead that he found at the army surplus store, and tied with care from buck tails that he brought home from deer camp.

A few weeks before he passed away, Eugene and I sat with my daughter while we visited in his living room. The house still smelled the same as it had when I was growing up. He asked about my children, and talked about his children and grandchildren. The garden was still there, though not as many vegetable plants were in residence as when I lived at home. He ordered a single box of girls scout cookies, and we said farewell for the last time. Taking out the reel mower reminds me of Eugene Klein, his care for his friends, family, and his home. I just purchased a garden fork last evening, so I’ll be thinking of him as I use it to turn the soil for our new vegetable garden plot. I only hope I can prepare the soil as well.