The “leaf gods” were angry and my backyard paid the price. Leaves rained down from the trees like locusts descending upon Pharaoh’s Egypt. Big orange leaves, narrow brown leaves, even pine tree needles covered literally every inch of the yard. Our border collie, Zoe, crashed through the crunchy detritus in search of her favorite ball. Looking out from our kitchen’s picture window, I shook my head in frustration.
“When will this madness end?” I shouted to the heavens.
What had sparked the gods’ anger? Earlier that morning, I had finished cleaning and clearing the backyard of leaves and twigs from an overnight storm. Over-filled leaf bags lined the rear fence we shared with the next-door neighbors. My back and legs hurt from stooping and scooping, while my arms were sore from stuffing and plunging — movements familiar to any Mid-South homeowner with trees. After several hours of raking, my shoulders screamed “enough,” joining my back and arms in misery.
Even those folks using leaf blowers will eventually become tired and stiff, holding the contraption at odd angles in a futile attempt to remove every fallen leaf. In our minds, we know more leaves will eventually come down. We know they’ll end up everywhere — in the pool, on the patio, up against the fence line, inside the carport, and underneath, well, underneath anything that’s outside. Yet we perform this task every fall and into the early days of winter. An endless task repeated each year.
Here in the Mid-South, we have wonderful trees: several varieties of big oaks, skyscraper-tall pines, along with many other tree types that will — depending on the late-summer temperatures and the amount of rain — burst into spectacular colors. While our fall foliage might not rival the beauty of autumn in New Hampshire or Maine, the changing colors are always a sight to behold.
But all those big, wonderful trees bring leaves — in many colors and forms — which settle to the ground, not only causing backaches but also headaches and potential hearing loss from the constant whine of gas-powered leaf blowers plus the roar of those huge seated-mowers. Each week — and almost every day of the week — platoons of yard guys invade our neighborhood, clearing out lawns, flower beds, driveways, and sidewalks. In their wake, rows upon rows of plastic leaf bags line the curbs awaiting removal.
Not only can the endless task take a toll on your hearing and your back, it can also take a toll on your wallet. Sounding like a quote from Julius Caesar, “The legions [of yard guys] must be paid,” and their work doesn’t come cheap. Nor does the cost of yard bags, gloves, and rakes, requiring many trips to the hardware store. Many.
Yes, when will this madness end?
Some of my favorite memories, however, come from being outside on a relatively mild November day, one end of our yard festooned in a carpet of leaves. On the other end, where raking had commenced several hours earlier, giant leaf piles, resembling a mountain range, dotted the newly cleared area. Our son, Zach, and his young friends would race around the piles and then suddenly leap into one, scattering leaves and twigs pell-mell. They were quickly joined by Nixie, our first border collie, who dove into the leaves to find the boys. This game of hide-and-seek morphed into a game of seek and find in which the boys would hide Nixie’s rubber ball and wait for her to sniff it out. Nix would jump into the leaf mound, root around, scattering more leaves, of course, and reemerge victorious with the ball in her mouth.
Back then, I’d congregate with our old neighbors to talk leaf strategy (Backyard or front yard, first? Or, does it matter?), tools of the trade (Bill bought a new gas-powered blower on sale at Lowe’s), and supplies (Clear bags or black?). We sounded like Mississippi farmers, gathered around the bed of an old pickup, discussing crop yields, weather forecasts, and cotton prices. The neighbors talked about bagging fallen leaves like it was a harvest. Or a competition.
How many bags you got, Ken? I’m up to 32, and I still have the whole backyard to finish.
For many of us, myself included, the fall’s leaf “harvest” is a full-time job. A lot of effort and a lot work. And a lot of time. Hours upon hours spent on the endless task, which I still perform to this day.
The madness will never end.
Carpeted in orange and brown, the backyard beckoned. Zoe tromped her way towards our patio, glow ball firmly between her teeth. Victorious.
I smiled even though the endless task was before me.
Caesar once famously said, “I came, I saw, I conquered.”
Perhaps old Julius could grab a rake and help me conquer the backyard.
Ken Billett is a freelance writer and short-story fiction author. He and his wife, Vicki, have called Memphis home for over 35 years. When not listening to blues music, Ken reads spy novels and tends to his flowers.
