You need the right mindset for this job. Grab a warm pair of gloves—your fingers will thank you when the dew bites. And please, sharpen the blade first. Nothing ruins the vibe like a ragged tear on the last cut. Treat it like a shave, not a butchering.
I actually talk to my mower during this run. “Good job, buddy. You did well this year.” The neighbors might think I’m crazy, but they’re the same people who name their snowplows. (Hi, Dave from across the street—I see your “Blizzarus.”)
Take a picture after you’re done. Yes, seriously. Do it for your future self, who will scroll through photos in February and think, Wow, remember the smell of grass? Trust me on this.
The last lawn cut of the year
The Emotional Aftermath
Once the deck is clean and the mower is parked, the silence hits you. It’s a thick silence, too. No more Saturday morning engine drone. No more chasing the dog away from the sprinkler. The yard is officially asleep.
I usually pour myself a medium-strong drink afterward. Whiskey, hot tea, even coffee—doesn’t matter. It’s a toast to the shed, to the lawn, to the clover you secretly let grow wild in the back corner. Cheers, little green buddy. See you in April.
You might feel a pang of loss. That’s normal. It means you actually cared about this small, ridiculous, wonderful duty. Caring about a patch of dirt and roots is a very human thing.
