The Grass Crown: A Coronation Evan J. Massey A few days ago, I was suddenly overcome with the urge to mow grass. And being that I had just moved into a 6th-floor apartment, and therefore had no grass to mow, I downloaded a mowing simulator on my work iPad. It was then that I was also overcome with laughter at the thought of me virtually cutting grass while my students pulled their hair out like weeds during an exam essay. “I’ll help you after I finish this client’s lawn,” I’d say in my head. Before I hit the road in my riding lawnmower, I chose my avatar and, in keeping with my own identity, selected the Black man with a beard and a yellow hat—the latter sadly missing the John Deere logo. He was a blacksmith, you know, John Deere. My homie Deere created the first commercially successful scouring plow, which took Flyover Country by storm. Though, maybe I shouldn’t play around with that word “storm.” At the tender age of four, John Deere lost his father, William Deere, who boarded a boat for England in hopes to provide a better life for his family. He was never heard from again. He’s presumed to have died at sea. RIP “Dub D.” That’s something I could never imagine, losing my Pop. It was my Pop who taught me how to mow grass; how to adjust the blade height, to press the fuel primer bulb after gassing up, and how to admire your work afterwards with a glistening glass of lemonade as the sun sprayed strokes of light across your landscaped masterpiece. I read somewhere that you can actually paint your lawn. Lawn paint seems, at least to me, like it’s specifically for the inept curators of yards, the non-landscapers. From the long metal hose, a shower of emerald extract spritzes onto the earth. Looks inauthentic, fake as hell. Like something out of a video game. I had just cut my first
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