The Rebirth of Scything?
Peter Finlay writes:
Summer is upon us now. Bright summer with blue, green, golden sunshine. It won’t last for ever. Nothing does. And so it is precious. Not more so than winter or autumn or spring. Or life itself. All is wonderful if we’re in the right mood!
Please leave it like that. Please don’t wreck it as it is wrecked every summer with the human propensity to destroy this gift. How? Just listen and you will find out. So many of the wreckers guard themselves from listening. Ear protection it is called. They wield these instruments that churn out noise that travels to the end of summer with ears muffled – strangely seeming to think little, if at all, of other ears! Neither do they seem to be aware of the stench of the little 2-stroke engines that drive the whirring nylon. Perhaps they might think to wear gas-masks too! Surely they must be aware of the fumes that easily carry 200 yards in all directions on a still day.
No, they are not aware of such things. Any more than they are aware of the the wild-flowers cut down in their prime, before they have had a chance to seed, or aware that grass, or rather grasses (there are so many wonderful varieties), could be such a beautiful part of our surroundings.
Oh, if only instead of these horrible pathetic little machines that almost daily can turn our summers into a noise and smell hell, people were to rediscover an instrument almost as old as time itself – think Father Time if you like – the ancient scythe, which whispers (Frost) through the grass and leaves no trace of any smell so all you smell are the scents of the flowers and the mown grass – so amazingly different from the unpleasant smell of grass mashed by machinery!
And have you ever seen the way a man moves with a scythe and contrast it with the way he waddles aggressively with the screaming little machine determined to whack the grasses and everything else into oblivion? You can dance with a scythe – never with one of these unmentionable little noise polluters.
If only people would learn again how to dance! And sing with joy! And hear the wisdom of the fields again!
There was never a sound beside the wood but one,
And that was my long scythe whispering to the ground ……
…… The fact is the sweetest dream that labor knows.
My long scythe whispered and left the hay to make. (Robert Frost, “Mowing”)
I have lived on Arran since I retired in 2001, having worked as a minister of the Church of Scotland in many places from the huge rural parishes of Zambia, to the northern Highlands. By way of contrast I worked in housing schemes in Paisley and Glasgow’s East End. I have used scythes in the past but rediscovered how lovely they are when I bought an Austrian scythe 8 years ago. A scythe skilfully used can keep the grass even on a lawn in perfect trim. In view of the pollution from strimmers (both noise and their huge CO2 output) I would dearly love to see a movement away from their use. Perhaps the Scottish government with its commitment to a cleaner environment (see Beverley Walker’s article in June issue) could encourage young people in learning the delightful art of scything and we could look forward to a time when you could get your grass kept beautiful by a silent gardener! Bliss! Sadly a very serious back injury 5 years ago has made it not so easy for me to scythe – and yet people with bad backs have testified to the soothing effects of the gently swinging motion. You wouldn’t ever get that from a strimmer!
There is much more about scything here.
