Nov 12, 2002 4 min read

The falling leaves. While walking our house canine, Ladybug, recently, just for a moment, I felt the fear and dread of a hundred men facing a walk off the precipice.

Why?

Falling leaves.

It was on one of our few recent warm Indian summer days. The pooch and I were out for our daily stroll and the breeze was kicking things up a bit. As I gazed skyward the wind dislodged a covey of leaves from their branches, sending them like a flock of birds across my line of sight.

It was then, just for a moment, that a chill ran up and down my spine. My mouth became dry. My heart beat faster. I got that sick feeling in my stomach. It was as if there was a very important thing to be done and I had not done it.

What am I talking about?

Cleaning up leaves.

Some of you may recall that not too many years ago we lived in the mountains east of Uniontown. It was a lovely spot, but it was a gathering of massive oak and other trees that made it a dismal place to be each fall. These tree droppings would clutter the yard in layer upon layer, and, if not gathered up and disposed of in some way, would literally smother the grass before it had a chance to renew in spring.

I would spend most of any dry days in October (during my “free’ time) in the yard with a rake, leaf blower, tarp, etc., pushing, pulling, hauling those leaves off to a pile where they could be safely burned.

Damp, wet weather impeded my progress. Brisk wind blew what I had already gathered back into the yard. If my muscles ached or my head was clogged with leaf dust, it meant nothing. I had to keep going.

One year I didn’t get all the leaves cleaned up and the following spring spent a goodly portion of time reseeding a large part of the front yard. That shows how insidious those leaves could be.

Well, on our walk, for some strange reason, I had this flash to the past, brought on by the vision of those leaves sailing down from above.

Fortunately, reality quickly kicked in.

The house we now live in is smaller, with a tiny yard and a number of trees that can be counted on less than one hand. We have a dogwood in the front and a pair of some kind of trees in the back. In fact, I probably get more leaves in my yard from neighbor’s trees than I do from my own.

In other words, what was once the Labor of Hercules when we lived in the mountains has become a child’s stroll through the meadow.

Lifting leaves last year amounted to filling about a half dozen large yard bags. The hardest part of the job was bending down to pick them up to put them in the bag. Our yard is so small compared to what we once had that I have to be careful not to bang the rake into the fence on each swing.

Well, I suppose that’s a little hyperbole. The yard isn’t quite the size of a postage stamp. Maybe one of those big stickers they put on express mail?

Do I miss the annual chore? If I did, I’m sure there are plenty of people who would be more than happy for me to join them in their yards at this time of year.

Let’s just say I earned my rest and paid my dues.

So while I’m sipping a hot cocoa in my back yard, listening to the cacophony of leaf blowers, grunts and scraping rake sounds emanating from our neighborhood, I am empathetic.

I also get a warm fuzzy feeling that I know isn’t the byproduct of the cocoa.

Maybe I’ll have another flashback come winter. But then it will be followed by the delight in knowing that’s another task I don’t have to worry about.

Know what I mean?

Have a good day.

Jim Pletcher is the Herald-Standard’s business editor. E-mail: jpletcher@heraldstandard.com.