I've become a regular at my local hardware store, where I like to ask endless questions of the patient and knowledgeable owner. His family has had the store for three generations, and I imagine he runs the place just like his father, and grandfather, did before him.
It is here that my husband bought me my beloved clean-air push reel mower. And it is here that we have bought rakes and hoes and all the other items required of our new suburban life as wannabe-Amish farmers. And here that I had answered 101 questions about what kind of grass seed I should buy. And how to plant the grass seed. And how to water the grass seed. And of course, how to mow the grass should it eventually grow.
I like going to this place. For the chats with the owner. And for the total anachronism.