Mowers and strimmers – ah, the glorious sound of summer

They are the sounds of hope, the indications after months of rain, that order will be restored, vitamin D levels upped and scarves put in the bottom drawer. Not the birdsong, the high-pitched call of the buzzard or the rippled whistle of the robin, nor the spring lambs bleating in the fields. I’m talking about the sound of mowers being started and strutting their stuff across lawns, the buzz of strimmers attacking weeds and grass, the noise of chainsaws sorting out timber, and leaf-blowers scattering fallen leaves.

It is the music of May, the tune of endeavour, the song of man attempting to impose order on nature. It’s the hum that tells me the ground is dry; that the growing season is upon us; that reminds us to sew our seeds for salad leaves and sweet peas; that we should begin edging and that we may be able to walk across fields without getting stuck or disappearing into a slurry of sloppy, sticky mud.

And it’s the joyful reminder to get my own grass-controlling beasts ready. For if my neighbour thinks he’s making a din, just wait until I get my mowers out. My machines make up a veritable orchestra. I’ve collected them over the years and while I don’t quite have the lawns to justify them, nothing will ever force me to part with them.

There’s my simple Cobra 135CC self-propelled mower, the John Deere ride-on (part-exchanged last year when the old one went to the garage in the sky), a Fly-Mo – that homage to the 1980s, as iconic as R White’s Lemonade – and the vast three-cylinder Ransome. I’ve also got two old strimmers – inherited from my father some 20 years ago – which I intend to get going, and an ancient petrol-powered rotavator.

Imagine these all up and running. Spluttering, then chugging along, brandished at the grass, the weeds, the nettles and the thistles shivering in terror at the prospect of being chopped and cut, mown and mulched into oblivion.

Many people – mainly men – relish the start of the mowing season. Some are tending their suburban gardens, others their stately lawns, some are careering up and down cricket pitches while others are taming the grass in our public parks. So stop for a second and listen for their sweet sound – the sound of summer.