An essay by Sean Robertson.
At some point during my Saturday morning lawn mowing session, I study the six diagrams on the back flap of the mower, displayed under a heading of “Warning: To Avoid Serious Injury or Death.” The six diagrams show what not to do with the mower in order to stay uninjured and alive. One diagram advises not to place a foot under the spinning blades, claiming that toe detachment may follow; another warns not to allow joggers near the operating mower, lest they be pelleted with chunks of sod. The other four follow the same pattern, presenting similar reproachable behaviors and some hint of their consequences.
The task of taming the yard's grass became mine at an early age, as soon as I was tall enough to operate the mower. It was during my first day mowing that I discovered the diagrams and began my faithful adherence to the rules the diagrams presented. Due to the simple symbolic language, I quickly understood the dangers in operating a lawn mowing machine. I also knew exactly how to avoid encountering those dangers; to never transgress the law of the mower.
Only a few days into my mowing career, my trust for the mower's ruleset was suddenly ripped apart. As I guided the mower near the edge of the lawn, making sure to avoid feet and joggers, I heard an irregular clunk under the blade casing. A second later, I saw an object dispensed from the mulching chute, and I felt as if I had just eaten what the mower regurgitated. According to the diagrams, I had done nothing wrong — no red line was drawn through my actions on the back flap of the mower — yet I still knew I had committed a terrible crime. I had personally reduced the garter snake population of my yard, and the world, by one.
My first reaction was to blame the diagrams: nowhere was there a warning that objects other than grass, feet, and joggers would be present on the lawn. As I recovered from the shock of the tragedy, I realized that the cause was my own ignorance. I was following the few rules of the diagrams, but not the rules of common sense — I was directing this steel blade, spinning with the power of six horses, and not paying attention to what lay directly ahead. Instead of basing my actions directly on the rules I was shown, I had to use my knowledge of the inherent dangers and consequences of the activity.
To the benefit of all the remaining garter snakes in my yard, and the world, I started to think for myself in every situation; I knew that not everything would be detailed on the back flap of the mower.