Charles Portis has a handle on reality. In his novels, there’s always some character tinkering with a gasoline engine, it seems. Portis knows how we live.

Most of us live in a house with a yard. This time of year in these parts, that means cutting grass.

That means pulling a rope starter until a gasoline engine rumbles to life.

My rope broke the other day and that was that.

So after procrastinating, I rolled out my push mower. I do mean push. It has no engine; nothing to turn the blades and wheels except me.

My wife bought it at an estate sale because it looked cute. She says it’s good for my health. And good for the lawn because of the way it slices the grass blades.

It’s what you could call green, maybe a British hue.

After all, the Brits invented the thing and we ex-colonists just had to imitate our betters. So we started keeping lawns.

I must admit my lawn, front and back, is not big. I can cut it in 20 minutes with my power mower.

Well, why not try the old fashioned thing. Besides, the weather was cool.

I found the whir of the combine-like blades pleasant. It’s so 19th-century-sounding. Imagine a country boy riding on a horse-drawn hay machine. It has the decibel level of a cicada.

There’s something to be said for retro.

That takes me back to when I was a kid. We had a reel-type push mower. It got the job done, but left many Johnson grass spindles, like Alfalfa Switzer’s cowlick. So we just had to recut a bit. Some things never change.

My dad bought our first power mower. It had a tall Briggs and Stratton engine that made the contraption look like Mount Suribachi.

Anyway, the power Lawn Boy was in need of a tuneup before the string broke, and a few parts had fallen away over the years.

So, after asking folks for recommendations on a repair shop, I made my choice, Cleve Addie, maybe on the sound of the name as much as anything. I found the shop tucked away in southwest Little Rock by some railroad tracks.

It has been in that location since Cleve Addie opened it in 1979. He died in 1999 and a second generation is running the shop.

I dropped the mower off on a Tuesday and was told to call back late in the week. No sweat, I had my backup.

I called in a couple of days and was told that it’d be a few more days because the shop had to order a blade from the factory.

Oh, I said to myself, here it comes. How much will the new blade cost?

“Eighteen dollars and seventy cents.” That had a nice uneven ring to it.

A few days later, I walked into the shop and told Cleve’s son, Craig, who I am and why I’m there.

He was hunting up my bill as I hear someone start up a mower in the shop. I know that sound, just like I know my dog’s muffled woof when she’s warming up for a full bark.

The bill was $117.53. But it was neatly itemized.

For example: spark plug, $3.25; air cleaner, $3.84; spark plug boot, $2.06; screw, $1.29.

In a world of cyber this and cyber that, a list like that brought me back to concrete reality.

That evening I tried it out. It cut fine, though it took me awhile to get over the coughing spasm caused by the exhaust.

That’s a different kind of reality.

If you have a tip, call Jack Weatherly at (501) 378-3518 or e-mail him at

[email protected]

Business, Pages 63 on 05/19/2013