Life, Death and Mowing
Key topics
Delving into the poetic side of lawn mowing, commenters discovered a treasure trove of literary connections, from Robert Frost's "Mowing" to Philip Larkin's hedgehog-killing mower woes. As they explored the intersection of gardening and verse, they unearthed fascinating examples of nominative determinism, like the researcher Francesca Gardner, whose name seemed destined for a study on mowing. With humor and insight, the discussion mowed down the boundaries between literature and everyday life, revealing the quirky side of human experience. Amidst the banter, a consensus emerged: even the most mundane tasks can be imbued with depth and meaning.
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Discussion Activity
Light discussionFirst comment
8m
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5
120-132h
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- 01Story posted
Dec 19, 2025 at 4:58 AM EST
22 days ago
Step 01 - 02First comment
Dec 19, 2025 at 5:06 AM EST
8m after posting
Step 02 - 03Peak activity
5 comments in 120-132h
Hottest window of the conversation
Step 03 - 04Latest activity
Dec 24, 2025 at 7:35 AM EST
16 days ago
Step 04
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It’s a seriously pathetic mower that would be jammed by a hedgehog.
If his model was anything like ours, a hedgehog could probably crawl between the blade disc (not the blades but the thing they're attached to) and the chassis and get itself wedged in there.
Heck, the rechargeable vacuum I have at home has more power than what I used to the one I plugged to the wall ~20 years ago. Reducing the cost of CFD via higher performance computers did wonders in efficient system design, and that's just one aspect of life.
We have 1.5L Turbo / Hybrid engines which can propel the vehicle quicker than a run of the mill V6 of yore, too, and I find this amazing.
I always wanted to have a bigger engine because of the agility in emergency conditions. Now the bog standard car has more agility I even dreamed of.
When I was in high school I would mowe my neighbor's huge yard with a push mower. I had a green LG rumor and I put entire Metallica albums on it. It would take me like 6 hrs to mow this damn yard and I'd go through entire albums. But yeah it's just so funny all that work and I'd get like $40 which I didn't have any other income so that was money but just dumb. Your mind wanders though going up and down following the lines. This old guy would take me out fishing though, have our little cheap sandwich, he was a janitor so not like he was rolling in money but he helped me out.
Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim’rous beastie, O, what a panic’s in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi’ bickering brattle! I wad be laith to rin an’ chase thee, Wi’ murdering pattle!
I’m truly sorry Man’s dominion Has broken Nature’s social union, An’ justifies that ill opinion Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor, earth-born companion An’ fellow-mortal!
I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! A daimen-icker in a thrave ‘S a sma’ requet; I’ll get a blessin wi’ the lave, An’ never miss’t!
Thy wee-bit housie, too, in ruin! Its silly wa’s the win’s are strewin! An’ naething, now, to big a new ane, O’ foggage green! An’ bleak December’s win’s ensuing, Baith snell an’ keen!
Thou saw the fields laid bare an’ waste, An’ weary Winter comin fast, An’ cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell, Till crash! the cruel coulter past Out thro’ thy cell.
That wee bit heap o’ leaves and stibble, Has cost thee monie a weary nibble! Now thou’s turned out, for a’ thy trouble, But house or hald, To thole the Winter’s sleety dribble, An’ cranreuch cauld!
But Mousie, thou art no thy lane, In proving foresight may be vain: The best-laid schemes o’ Mice an’ Men Gang aft agley, An’ lea’e us nought but grief an’ pain, For promis’d joy!
Still thou are blest, compared wi’ me! The present only toucheth thee: But Och! I backward cast my e’e, On prospects drear! An’ forward, tho’ I cannot see, I guess an’ fear