I bought this lawnmower a number of years ago from an old friend who dealt in used mowers. I had no idea how many miles were on this machine, but the wheels were still attached and the motor purred like a kitten. My friend issued me a lifetime warranty on this piece of steel and whirring blade. Except for blowing up the original engine while climbing a steep hill, the mower is still intact.

This is the piece of machinery that reminds me most of my youthful days on the farm. I always loved the smell of freshly cut grass or weeds and my little red and white lawnmower provides me that benefit. Even though I tend to plug up the grass chute on occasion and cuss when the mower deck scrapes the grass off a hump of my landscape, I ride like a king across my half acre of Kentucky bluegrass.

It's kind of a come-down from the days I sat atop a large farm tractor with a real mower chattering behind. Cutting 7 feet of alfalfa at a time and watching it fall gracefully behind the mower was always a thrill. There were times when the mower plowed through a freshly dug pocket gopher mound and I had to dismount and unplug the sickle, but those times were far outweighed by those when I cruised across the Iowa fields, making hay.

Old lawnmowers develop certain traits that only the owner knows. My lawn mower is no different. Before starting, a certain setting on the throttle must be made, a valve must be turned to allow gas to flow, one wire must be attached to the ignition and the centrifugal clutch must be set in just the right place else the rider will take a flying ride out of the garage and perhaps meet up with his pickup sitting just outside. More than once I've managed to dodge a tree or a dog after not getting my gears in order. My dog now lies inside her doghouse when I go to start my lawnmower.

I started up my lawnmower last week for the first time this spring. First I had to recharge the near dead battery, then I changed the oil, greased the steering rod and sharpened the blade. It sat there ready for use as I climbed aboard, adjusted the throttle, hooked the wire up to my ignition, moved my gear shifter into place and turned on the key. This is a moment of truth for all of us who know that at any time a machine may not come to life after nine months of hibernation.

I bit my lower lip as I pushed the rubber-coated starter button. Ah, the sweet sound of a motor running after only turning over three times! Life doesn't get much better than that.

I putt-putted out to my leaf strewn yard and proceeded to pulverize every leaf I came across. The little red and white-wheeled mower never hiccuped, not even once.

Now I know why Forrest Gump was so proud of that red and white lawnmower. It ran, it cut and it gave him a chance to enjoy seeing that lush, green lawn after he was done. No wonder I liked that movie!

See you next time. Okay?