I had to do it. I’d already waited too long. The lawn was looking as scraggly as a man’s hair who hadn’t visited his barber since COVID-19 came to town. I’m usually the first one to mow in the Spring, to the great annoyance of my neighbors. But this year, all the neighbors beat me to it. My lawn looked like a prairie and my reputation was at stake.

So Wednesday morning I looked outside and saw the frost coming off the roof. Check. The outside temperature was 32.5 degrees F. Check. The mowers were ready, fresh oil, fresh gas, sharp blades (Yes, I have two mowers; a walk behind for the trim and a rider for the rest.). I bundled up with a fleece-lined hooded jacket, gloves, and boots. The sun was shining as I began the time-worn routine, trim around the house, make one pass along the perimeter, then switch to the rider. Two minutes into the job, I thought the pollen was really heavy; why, I could see the white stuff flying around my head. When it melted on my sleeve, the truth dawned; it was snowing.

Since the sun was still shining, I pressed on, determined to finish the job. The snow continued off and on, sometimes small granules, and occasionally big flakes. The neighbors must have been looking on in awe at my perseverance and grit. Or laughing their heads off. But finally it was done and I snapped this photo.

Then my wife and I went out to lunch. As we sat waiting for our pulled-pork sandwiches, I looked out the window and a white out was in progress. I thought about getting an extra order of fries in case I’d have to shovel snow when I got home.

The white stuff continued to come down with a vengeance. A few miles north of us, the white out caused a forty-three car pileup on the interstate. But we returned home safely and I brewed myself a strong cup of coffee, sat in my recliner, and watched the snow fall on my freshly mowed lawn. Ah, life in Wisconsin is good. And the snowblower still had some gas in the tank, just in case.