I hate pine needles.

Growing up in Arkansas will do that to you.

Pine trees are everywhere in Ashdown, Arkansas. They are pretty much everywhere throughout the Natural State.

Pine trees brought the paper mills, which brought the paper mill employees, which brought more homes, which brought more homeowners who didn’t want to rake up their own pine needles.

This was an opportunity for my buddies and me.

A yard full of pine needles prevented the grass from growing in the spring. And when you’re a young, Southern fella who likes spending money, thriving yards are your key to cash.

So, to be able to mow, the pine needles had to go.

(knock knock)

Random Homeowner:  “Hello, can I help you, young man?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. I noticed that your yard has a lot of pine needles. I was wondering if you’d like for me to rake and burn them for two dollars?”

Random Homeowner: “I’ve asked my husband three times to do that, but he said he’s too tired from working at the paper mill. Since he can’t seem to make the time to rake our yard. I’ll pay you three dollars.”

It helps when the husband never gets around to raking up the pine needles.

It also helps when you grow up during a time when cities hadn’t yet outlawed burning things on your own property.

Burning pine needles means you don’t have to bag and haul them off.

My buddies and I would often team up whenever the number of yards that needed raking became numerous. Three twelve-year-old boys can do a lot of yards in one day. Four three-dollar yards adds up.

We’d each go knock on a door, score a job, and then regroup at a corner in the neighborhood. We’d usually tackle the biggest one first. All three would rake until it became manageable for two, then one.

Then, we’d work on another yard. Each project was juggled based on progress, until we each had to hang around and monitor the fire piles.

Come spring, we’d offer yard mowing.

(knock knock)

Random Homeowner:  “Hello, can I help you, young man?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. I noticed that your yard has grown up. I was wondering if you’d like for me to mow it for two dollars? By the way, that’s a very nice dress you’re wearing.”

Random Homeowner: “I’ve asked my husband three times to do that, but he said he’s too tired from working at the paper mill. Since he can’t seem to make the time to mow our yard. I’ll pay you four dollars.”

It helped that President Ford’s Whip Inflation Now slogan wasn’t accomplishing anything and that got you a raise.

It also doesn’t hurt when you’ve learned a thing or two from Eddie Haskell.

The great thing about mowing yards back then was my grandfather repaired lawn equipment. So we were never without a working mower. A broken Briggs & Stratton never had a chance.

My buddies and I would each use a rope to tie a lawnmower to the seat of our bike and then pedal all over town with a handlebar in one hand and a gas can in the other.

It helped to grow up during a time when cities had no rules about bicycle safety.

Among the youth of 70s America, bicycle safety was not just ignored, it was discouraged.

At the end of a long week, we’d take our five or six dollars each and go to a movie for a quarter. We’d get popcorn and a Dr. Pepper, and if we felt especially rich, we’d get Dots or a Slow Poke.

If there wasn’t a good movie on at Williams Theater, we’d go to the Piggly Wiggly and buy comic books. Sitting around on a Friday night swapping comics while listening to the newest 8-track of Three Dog Night seemed like the best thing ever.

It felt good to be kings.

The kings these days are the kids. They charge a lot more than three dollars to cut a lawn. I would’ve done it myself, but I was writing a column about men who used to work at the paper mill and were too busy to take care of their own yards.

My wife even paid those boys more than they were asking. Not surprised. They sounded just like Eddie Haskell.

 

©2024 John Moore

John’s books, Puns for Groan People and Write of Passage: A Southerner’s View of Then and Now Vol. 1 and Vol. 2, are available on his website TheCountryWriter.com, where you can also send him a message.