Mow Crew

The grounds shed at the golf course was humble—a place of clipped grass, well-oiled tools, and the smell of earth. Cruizer didn’t see it as a shed, though. To him, it was a kind of sanctuary, a place where everything was in its rightful place, where he could be among the elements without fuss or hurry. It suited him.

Everyone called him Cruizer. The name stuck because of the way he moved through life—like he was floating down a slow river, never in a rush, never worrying too much about where the current would take him. His job was to mow the fairways, trim the greens, and keep things tidy, but for him, it was more than work. It was communion with the land, a kind of meditation where the hum of the mower was as calming as any chant or hymn.

That morning, Cruizer was showing the new kid how things were done. He didn’t give instructions, didn’t lay down rules; he just moved through his tasks, trusting the kid would pick up what mattered. When he fired up the mower, he gestured for the kid to watch, his subtle smile an invitation rather than a command.

Cruizer didn’t need words to teach. His rhythm, his ease, spoke louder than any lecture. He placed his hands on the mower’s handles with a gentle authority, moving the machine in smooth, fluid motions, following the land’s curves instead of fighting them. It was a quiet, unspoken lesson: let the work guide you, let the ground show you where it needs to be trimmed, trust in the feel of it, and let it be easy.

As they rode side by side on the cart, the kid told him a joke. Cruizer laughed—a full, honest laugh that seemed to fill the space between them. It wasn’t just amusement; it was delight in the moment, a genuine appreciation for the kid’s attempt to break the silence. It wasn’t just about the joke; it was about sharing something, building a bridge. The kid looked a little surprised at the laugh, but it wasn’t long before he was chuckling too.

Then, a golfer approached, his steps heavy with frustration. The man’s brows were knotted, his lips pressed tight. “Hey! You nearly ran over my ball back there with that big machine of yours!” His voice had an edge, the kind of tone meant to provoke.

Cruizer didn’t flinch. In fact, his smile only deepened, his laugh softer but still there, as if the golfer’s anger was just another harmless part of the morning landscape. “Oh, that ball, huh? Slippery thing!” he replied, like it was the ball’s fault for getting in the way. His tone was warm, teasing, an invitation to laugh at the absurdity of the complaint.

The golfer, thrown by Cruizer’s reaction, pressed on. “I’m serious! You can’t just go messing up people’s game!”

Cruizer didn’t waver. He leaned back a little, a look of sympathy that didn’t quite meet the man’s frustration. “Game’s got its own mind, doesn’t it? But if I messed up the moment, I owe you one,” he said with a grin, like they were sharing an inside joke rather than a confrontation. “Tell you what—her is a replacement in case I get your ball next time.” Then he threw the golfer one of the more expensive balls he had plucked out of the stream.

The golfer stared, momentarily lost for words. He’d come in ready for a fight, expecting anger or at least an apology, but Cruizer’s calm deflected it all like a breeze turning a leaf. After a moment, the golfer huffed, muttering something under his breath, and walked off, leaving Cruizer and the kid to share a grin.

“Doesn’t that… bother you?” the kid asked once the golfer was out of earshot. “I mean, he was kind of a jerk.”

Cruizer shrugged, a slow, rolling movement. “Can’t control a storm, right? But you can stand in it and not get wet.”

He pointed out over the course, where golfers were scattered, each in their own small world. “Folks bring what they got inside them to this game. Some folks got joy in there, some got anger. And sometimes, if you laugh right, they forget which one they’re carrying.”

The kid looked at him, a little awestruck. In Cruizer’s presence, that tension from earlier seemed to melt away, replaced by a strange sense of peace. Here was a man who moved through the world without resistance, who took everything in stride, and somehow managed to make it look like the easiest thing in the world.

The day was unfolding as usual. Cruizer and the kid drove the cart across the wide stretch of green on the range, gathering up scattered balls. The kid was quiet, watching Cruizer’s relaxed, unhurried way of working. There was something contagious about it—he was starting to feel like the world really could slow down, that maybe there was no rush to keep up with it.

Then, out of nowhere, they spotted an older man near the eighth green, stumbling. He wavered, clutching his chest, and then crumpled to the ground. Without a word, Cruizer was off the cart, jogging over to the man. The kid followed, a knot of panic forming in his stomach.

Cruizer knelt beside the fallen golfer, checking his pulse with a calmness that seemed to flow from some deep well within him. When he realized the man wasn’t breathing, he didn’t hesitate—he began CPR, steady and deliberate, his hands pressing rhythmically over the man’s chest. The kid watched, frozen, as Cruizer worked, his movements purposeful but still somehow unhurried, like he was coaxing life back into the man, one breath at a time. Cruizer then asked the kid to make sure help was on the way.

Minutes passed, the only sounds were the quiet hum of the course and Cruizer’s steady breaths as he continued CPR. Soon, they heard the wail of an ambulance growing louder in the distance, the paramedics arriving. Cruizer stepped back, giving them space to take over, and as they prepared the man for transport, Cruizer leaned down, whispering something in his ear—a gentle, almost tender farewell.

Back in the cart, the kid was silent, his mind racing. He could still see the man lying there, the look of peace on Cruizer’s face as he helped him. It didn’t make sense, how someone could be so calm, even with something as heavy as life and death hanging in the air.

They rode in silence for a while, and then Cruizer broke it, his voice low and easy. “Tough thing to see, huh?”

The kid nodded, still processing it all. “Yeah. I mean… you didn’t even look scared.”

Cruizer chuckled softly. “Scared wouldn’t do him much good, now would it?” He glanced out over the green, his gaze distant, thoughtful. “Way I see it, fear just gets in the way. Life’s got a rhythm, same as anything else, and when it’s time to go, it’s time. Just like when it’s time to stay, you keep on breathing. Either way, we don’t get to change it much.”

The kid looked at him, a little puzzled. “You’re not… sad?”

“Sad for the family, sure,” Cruizer replied, his voice soft with empathy. “They’re the ones left with the missing piece. But the man himself? No, I’m not sad for him.” He nodded, as if to some unseen presence. “He’s off to the next green, or wherever it is we go. There’s a peace to that, y’know?”

They drove on, the cart rolling over the soft grass. Cruizer’s face was serene, his gaze steady. “People worry a lot about endings,” he went on, “but every ending’s just the start of something else. Like the seasons here—fall turns to winter, winter to spring. Just part of the cycle. And when it’s my turn to check out? Well, I’ll tip my hat and thank the game for a good round.”

The kid absorbed this, a mix of awe and comfort settling over him. Cruizer wasn’t just a man with a laid-back attitude; he was someone who saw life and death not as opposites, but as two sides of the same coin, a natural flow as unchangeable as the grass beneath them.

As they pulled up to the grounds shed, the kid looked at him with a newfound respect. Cruizer smiled back, that easy, warm look in his eyes. “Way I see it,” he said, “we’re all just passing through, kid. So best enjoy the ride—and maybe, if we’re lucky, we’ll leave things a little greener behind us.”

Back at the grounds shed, the kid jumped off the cart, still thinking over what Cruizer had said. But his thoughts were cut short when he spotted their supervisor, standing with arms crossed and a tight expression that made his impatience clear. As soon as Cruizer stepped off the cart, the supervisor’s glare zeroed in on him.

“What did I tell you about staying in your lane?” he barked, his voice loud enough to startle a few nearby sparrows. “We can’t handle the liability of you ‘helping out’ like that. What if that guy sues? You think we need that kind of trouble?”

Cruizer’s face stayed as calm as ever. He just nodded, listening without a hint of defensiveness, even as the supervisor continued to fume. “Look, I get you think you’re doing the right thing, but that’s not your job. You’re here to mow grass, Cruizer, not play hero. I’ll have to write you up for this, you know that, right?”

Cruizer nodded again, his face smooth, untouched by irritation. “It is what it is,” he said simply. There was no bitterness in his tone, no anger—just a quiet acceptance that seemed to take the wind out of the supervisor’s frustration. The supervisor hesitated, clearly taken aback by Cruizer’s unruffled response. But after a moment, he just grumbled, scribbling down the write-up before walking off, shaking his head.

The kid watched, wide-eyed, still baffled by how Cruizer had stood there, taking it without so much as a flinch. When they were alone again, the kid shook his head. “What’s with that guy?” he muttered. “You just tried to save a guy’s life, and he’s acting like you ran over his dog or something.”

Cruizer shrugged, a gentle smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Funny thing about people,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “I tend to be a bit of a mirror. Folks see what they want in me, and sometimes what they see ain’t so pretty.”

The kid frowned. “A mirror?”

“Yeah,” Cruizer replied, leaning back against the cart, hands in his pockets. “See, when people look at me, they don’t just see me. They see a reflection of themselves—the parts they like and the parts they don’t. A man at peace with himself, he’ll see a friend in me. But someone who’s got trouble inside? They look at me, and it stirs all that up.”

The kid tilted his head, considering this. “So… you think he doesn’t like you ‘cause he doesn’t like himself?”

Cruizer nodded slowly. “More often than not, that’s the way of it. And if that’s true, then what good would it do me to be mad at him? He’s already got his own mess to deal with.”

The kid took this in, feeling the weight of it settle in his mind. Cruizer’s words were like the earth beneath his feet—steady, grounded, offering something solid to stand on. He looked at Cruizer with new understanding, realizing that this man wasn’t just relaxed; he was someone who saw deeply, who chose to carry the world’s weight lightly, even if others didn’t understand.

“So,” Cruizer said, a playful smile returning to his face, “why waste time being upset when you could spend it playing? Let them see what they need to see, and keep walking your path.”

The kid nodded, feeling like he’d just been given a gift he hadn’t expected. And as he followed Cruizer back into the shed, he found himself hoping that someday, he’d learn to see the world with the same calm, gentle eyes.