Scents change from breakfast food to country air, trees, pollen, and new-mown grass. Navigating past a kid pushing a mower, mulching the bright green lawn of a chocolate-brown A-frame, he recalls his father, living in their small rural town in Indiana, teaching him how to mow their yard. They had a nice split-level brick home and a two-car garage that contained every tool imaginable—a nice perk of being a rep for Snap-on. It was one of his many traveling sales jobs when he stayed closer to home, when Granddad was suffering from dementia.

Tools, Bibles, encyclopedias, home alarms, and cable TV.

Hunter’s father taught him to keep the height setting of the Briggs & Stratton mower on a three. Keep from killing the grass—don’t wanna mow it too short. Go back over spots you miss. Take a little pride in what you’re doing. He always took his time with Hunter, making sure he understood his instructions, never rushing him. Taught him how to sharpen the mower blade—start by removing the plug wire from the spark plug just in case the damn thing decided to fire on you, then prop the mower on the air-filter end, making sure it was low on fuel to keep it from spilling out and keep it from being top-heavy and tipping all the way over; use a stick of wood to block the blade from moving; using a half-inch socket, turn the retaining bolt counterclockwise, breaking it loose from the shaft; place the blade into the scratched and dented vise on the garage’s nicked and stained workbench, add a bit of 3-In-One oil to a ten-inch mill bastard file, and use about forty to fifty strokes in the same direction until each end was a shiny razored silver. Then place the blade back onto the shaft, add some oil to the threads, block the blade in the opposite direction, and tighten the bolt back down just shy of a final turn. He had taught the boy how to change the oil by laying the mower on its side, removing the threaded plug from the bottom of the frame. Lowering it over an old dishpan to catch the oil. Screw the threaded plug back in once it was empty. Add back twelve ounces of thirty-weight oil. He changed the plug every couple of years. Kept the air filter clean by blowing it out with an air hose. Scraped the undercarriage free of wet grass that collected after every mowing. Keeping the mower from rusting and breaking down the metal frame as quickly. What he never realized then, but did now: his dad was teaching him responsibility. Improving his mechanical skills. Teaching him how to take care of something. Be self-sufficient. Same as he did now with his truck and his motorcycles.