‘Round here, we call a Trimmer a “bushcutter”. If the local government’s Public Works employees are cutting the grass out along the main roads, there’s usually a “Bushcutting Ahead” or “Bushcutting In Progress” sign posted on the side of the road.
But there’s usually only 1 sign posted and it’s up so close to where the actual grass cutting is going on, that the drivers have a very short time to try to maneuver their vehicles away to the other side of the road.
Bushcutting (or trimming grass) ’round here is not like the stateside. One does not wear simple T-shirts and shorts while doing so. Main reason is because the grass ’round here are fierce. There’s tall boonie swordgrass and a whole lotta rocks flying all over the place. That’s why drivers try their best to avoid the bushcutters along the roads because their vehicles are most likely gonna get a scratch or even a small dent, from just passing by for a few seconds.
Bushcutting folkd here often cover their faces completely, by wrapping a T-shirt or cloth around their heads, that only their eyes are showing. So they kinda look like ninjas out there.
My home grounds also has rocks galore on all sides. So I always wear a plastic faceguard to protect my face while I’m bushcutting. But my mask is so scratched up, that I kinda can’t see through it anymore, and will need to pretty soon replace the front of it.
The most painful thing for me while bushcutting is the flying rocks that whack my feet. Them big ones had even penetrated the steel-toed boots that I had gotten at a military Navy shop. Whenever a humongous one gets me, I’d holler out “Yeeeeow!” in pain. But of course, through all of the loud noise comin’ from the bushcutter itself, no one can hear me out there.
In order to protect my legs, I used to wear a heavy apron. I don’t have it anymore because it had shredded to bits from getting riddled by the rocks. That apron was really great. It looked like the kind of apron a butcher would wear. When I had first bought it brand spankin’ new, it was a shiny black color and was so long, that I had to fold it the middle, to keep myself from tripping on it.
But after some years of using it, the bottom of it was so torn up, that it looked like something had blown up in front of me. So through the years, the apron got shorter and shorter, that I didn’t need to fold the middle of it any longer. And pretty soon, it became too short and shredded, that it ended up being worthless against them rocks, and was discarded.
Bushcutting around my home is supposed to be a once a month task. But sometimes, I can’t get to it until over a month later, that the weeds get more than knee-high, and very often, over waist-high. Currently, there are some areas where they have become swordgrass trees.
For those of you who are able to utilize a simple lawnmower to cut the flat-leveled grass around your home, I hope my story here has helped for you to appreciate your wonderful lawnmower much more than you already do.
The reason why I put off bushcutting around my home is because it is so time-consuming and back-breaking. About 5 years ago, I used to be able to bushcut my grass for about 6 hours straight with no problem. Now, just 2 hours into it, my back is killin’ me. I have to pause, bend my back side to side a bit, and shake off my sore wrists, about every hour.
Having to cut the grass is already so tiring. But get this: the mother here, requires for the grass to get all raked up afterwards.
As soon as I’m done, there she goes, getting one of the rakes from our storage shed, and begins raking up the obliterated grass on the ground. Because the grass is so filled with rocks, our wheelbarrow gets heavily loaded up quickly.
Because I don’t want the mom here to be breaking her back too, I too, have to end up grabbing another rake, to begin raking up the grass also. Talk about a long and tiring process!
What I don’t get (and complain to her about) is how come nobody in this house gives a jack when the grass is all tall, past waist-high level, and looking all horrid around our house because of it. So I don’t see why she can’t just let all of that cut up grass get dried up, right where they’re laying on the ground. But she just (irrationally) says to me, “It looks messy”, and continues to rake the grass, causing oh-so-crazy-tired me to rake them up with her too. I tell you, all of that collected grass is more than a whopping 30 piles to load onto our wheelbarrow, again and again, that we have to continue raking on into the following day.
One of the Best of the Best bushcutter brands to the local residents here is the Japanese Shindaiwa brand. I had bought it about a decade ago, back when I used to work as a store cashier.
An entire paycheck had been used to pay for this bushcutter of mine, which has been repaired at least 5 times since my having bought it. Whenever it breaks down, that’s when my neighbors have probably witnessed me kneeling down next to it, in silence. I had prayed to God for it to work again, countless times. So if it ever goes completely bust on me one day, I may post about it to y’all, with much sorrow.
Trimmers are really loud. If my family members ever need to get ahold of me while I’m out there bushcutting, then they have to get as close as they can (while staying far enough from the flying debris danger), and yell their heads off to get my attention.
There is nothing like attaching brand new strings onto it. Whirr!, the strings go, as they rip apart the tall and thick grass around me. I always carry at least 10 strings (my ammo) that I had pre-cut into same length pieces, and shove them into one of my backside pants pockets.
As I was changing the strings one day, the mom happened to be out there also. For some reason, during the short quiet time of my strings-changing, the mom and I had a short chat about a good friend of mine. I’ll call her “Jane”. I forgot what I was talking to her about Jane, but had mentioned something to her about Jane’s kids.
Right before the mom was about to answer me, I had just stood up with my freshly string-changed bushcutter and faceguard mask on, and was bracing myself for another hour of grass-attacking.
That’s when the mom says to me, “At least Jane has kids. At least she has something to live for.”
I can’t remember how long ago that was. Most likely more than 3 years ago. Like usual, I’m sure the mom has probably forgotten having said those 2 sentences to me. But I myself remember that moment vividly. It had taken a lot in me to not start crying my eyes out behind my dirty face mask, while I stood there. But I had been successful at making myself fight back my tears. So I turned my bushcutter on.
Some years prior to that day, the mom and I had a “conversation” about marriage again. Most likely, I had told her to shove it already, in regards to talking to me about that topic again. I can’t remember my exact words to her, but remember her answer to me like it was just yesterday.
She replied to me, “It’s not that you don’t want to be married. Your problem is, you can’t get married.”
In my previous 2 posts, I had shared with y’all about how all of my relatives constantly harass me about my not being married, whether they say it to me in person, or on the telephone. As you can tell from this post, among all of my relatives on both sides of my family, the person who is the most ashamed of my not being married, is this mother of mine.
Only about a week ago, we had one of our big arguments again. It had been a real ugly one, with a whole lot of screaming, and very sadly, with articles flying in the air. So it was definitely the perfect occasion for the mom to tell me once again, of how very incredibly ashamed she was, that I am still not married.
I fully admit and don’t deny that my very rotten behavior towards her before her saying that to me, had caused for her to yell to me again what I already knew she had been feeling wholeheartedly for over 2 decades now. Ah, life. Just another piece to add to the memories.