Major Mowing

I spent four solid hours mowing today. I think I must have mowed about three acres. I'd been trying to avoid mowing for a while as my thumbs had gone numb for several days after the previous major mow. The lawnmover is gorgeous, but she's a vibratey one, to be sure. Turns out that major mowing is an excellent way to find Kevin's lost golf balls. I retrieved six this time, then another ten from the lower field, ones I spotted while mowing the upper field. There are always interesting little things to discover, apart from golf balls, while mowing, for example: tiny little orchid-like wildflowers, buttercup-coloured butterflies, mounds of cherry/berry poo from goodness knows what, burrows, more poo, exotic fragrances of mown wild mint and other herbs.
I used a tank and a half of petrol. I carefully kept my thumbs off the handle, so I can still feel them this evening. No, that's not true... my left thumb is simply no more numb than it has come to be. 'White thumb', Kevin tells me. One day it will just drop off. All of the manual work I've been doing, which, believe me, is new to me, has taken its toll on my hands most of all. The rest of my body seems to be able to manage, but my hands are cut, bruised and achey. And I'm powering through pair after pair of gloves. I used to be tough on shoes. Now I'm tough on gloves.

My major mowing is visible for miles around. The local people probably call me the 'mad Englishwoman', out mowing all these acres with a garden mower, but they'd be wrong, because I'm Scottish.