It sat on the corner. Out of the bag poked a slender, broken, metallic arm reaching for freedom. I had seen it a couple of weeks before, hardly a stone’s throw from the church building. I watched, waiting for it to be claimed.
A short two years before, I had started the adolescent ritual of driving. I knew that if I turned the steering wheel the wheels would turn, if I pushed a pedal the car would either stop or go, and if I pushed a pedal too hard, I would undoubtedly feel a searing gaze from whichever parent was crammed in the passenger seat. I knew that gasoline exploded, and cars moved. That was it. But I craved to know more. What gizmos clicked? Which doohickeys spun? Why in the world would my window not roll up?
So, on a day as bleak and cold as a college student’s refrigerator, my brother and I approached the bag. To my knowledge it had sat motionless and unclaimed for over a month, slowly blending into the backdrop as pine needles meandered down from the trees above. We dusted off the crusty trash bag and peered inside. It was exactly as I expected. Inside was a rusty, but trusty, Briggs and Stratton lawnmower. My brother and I were giddy with nervousness and excitement. As we pulled the mower out of the bag, we analyzed it for any damages. The mower had lived a rough life. The handlebars once rigid and shiny had been butchered in a fit of rage, causing them to hang loosely at our feet. The poor thing was in desperate need of a bath. Grime was caked in every possible crevice and rust coated the underside. However, the engine looked to be in decent condition. It had no visual indications of anything going awry.
The next logical step for two teenage boys who had just found a device capable of rapid unplanned detonation would be to activate it. It was a two-person job since the handlebars were broken. My brother would pull the starting cord, and I would hold down the lever that kept the engine running. With our gloveless hands at the ready, our safety goggle-less eyes met with uncertainty. Rapid breathing and an insatiable need to know made tension ooze through the air. He pulled the cord. TUNK-Tuunk-tuuunk. My heart was rattling like a hex-bug. He tried again. This time the Briggs and Stratton rumbled and roared like a T-rex. It was alive! Alive with a primordial goal—consume—starting with the bag it was once a prisoner to. My brother and I cut the engine and scurried away, ending any hope of world domination the mower had. We looked at each other dumbfounded. The mower actually worked. Something we had found in a trash bag on a street corner was undeniably worth something. Giggling uncontrollably, we hefted the mower into the car, its broken frame coincidentally ideal for our small trunk.
When I had finished acquainting the lawnmower with its new home, I set out to make a state-of-the-art workshop. I selected prized real estate (a corner of the garage floor) and the best tools one could buy (whatever I could find in the garage that looked important). With these new and vital resources, I was ready to dive into the novel experience of disassembling my mower. Starting on the outskirts of the motor, I removed whatever piece was easiest. But I instantly ran into a problem. Each piece I removed was inevitably connected to another, more complicated piece deeper in the motor. While originally frustrating, I soon came to realize that these connections were the most important part of the engine. Whether it was the gas tank to the carburetor or the piston to the crankshaft, each piece was fitted perfectly to provide the engine with whatever it needed: fuel, air, electricity, a push, etc. Through further research I found that any tweaks to the design could have drastically changed the resulting outcome. If the spark plug activated later, the engine would have less power to cut grass. If the governor (a device that limits the tops speed of the engine) was calibrated wrong, the engine could make too much power and wear itself down rapidly. I was in awe that someone in a faraway office would find a problem that plagued humanity, use everything they learned and their years of accumulated experience to design a solution, take every tiny consideration imaginable and act on them to refine their solution, and release that solution to the world to make anyone’s life just a little bit easier.
I wanted to be that someone who took in every little detail to create a perfect solution. I wanted to be the one to make mechanical systems which make life easier. Through my experience of disassembling this lawnmower I discovered my passion for engineering. This passion has given me reason to pursue engineering as a major, and hopefully as a career. As life has progressed, I have had plenty of additional opportunities to grow towards these goals, from classes, clubs, and competitions in high school to acceptance and attendance at BYU.
Humanity can be, and often is, compared to many things. For example, engines create power by following a four-stage cycle. We too can create growth with a four-stage cycle, which goes as follows: curious air is drawn in and mixed with gasoline to create a combustible mixture. This mixture is compressed into a fraction of the space it originally filled. While uncomfortable with the new experience, the air-gas mixture is ignited, discovering its flaming passions. The mixture grows in volume as its temperature rises and causes the engine to move. With the power of engines, humanity can do amazing things: travel thousands of miles at breakneck speeds, create electricity, and even move mountains. So, don’t be afraid to try something new, get growing.
