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I felt like I was channeling my late father a few days ago.

As I was pushing my small green lawn mower out of the storage building, I noticed the inside of the left back wheel was looking rather frayed.

About halfway through my mowing session, the wheel came off. I think I might have pushed a circle around the backyard before I realized it was absent.

Reasoning that my 4-year-old daughter's movie "Thumbelina" would soon be over and thus my yard maintenance would come to an untimely halt, I finished mowing the yard with three wheels.

That worked pretty well, though in places the grass was completely removed, exposing red dirt and torn bits of a pink pool noodle.

But I knew that mowing with only three wheels was not a long-term solution.

So, I carefully placed the retired, dirty wheel into a plastic bag and headed to the local auto supply store with my 4-year-old, Harmony.

"What is all this stuff, Mother?" Harmony asked, befuddled by endless rows of bolts, screws and other nameless items that she saw.

"I don't know," I snapped. "This is a man's store."

While we practiced writing her "H's," a friendly employee looked for the replacement wheel and its attending nut and washer.

Although Harmony was excited about helping me with this project, it wasn't until her sister, Zoe, came home later in the day that we attempted to hoist the mower on its side and replace the wheel.

While Harmony rearranged my husband's sockets, dropping a universal joint on my bare toe, and Zoe plundered the storage building, I thought about my late dad, who spent a good portion of his summers either mowing his yard or fixing his Yazoo riding mower with the 5-foot deck.

He had a massive, unruly yard landscaped with small hills, spindly fruit trees, forgotten tools, barely visible tree trunks, sloping cement walkways and various aging cars belonging to my older brother. Oh, and there was one lovely magnolia tree, too.

It was a minor feat to mow the yard in three hours without damaging a blade or somehow rendering the machine unusable. And even when the riding mower did work, a heart-stopping, backfiring sound pierced the air upon parking the mower and turning the key.

In the coolness of the shade, he and my mom would tinker with the Yazoo, then give up and wait for my middle brother to take a look during his next visit.

He would be proud, though, to know that Harmony and I fixed the wheel on my mower -- the mower he lovingly gave me 11 years ago when I became a homeowner. The wheel is only a little snug and rotates if I bear down to the left as I mow.

Mowing season is almost over anyway. And my brother is just a phone call away.

Provided that you do not need any lawn mower maintenance tips, contact Janice Carmac at 373-7098 or janice.carmac @news-record.com