Sanity Check: Herding Leaves

Herding Leaves

By Sharon Short

Now that we live in a house which shares a yard with twelve humongous trees, I’ve discovered a new fall pursuit that, apparently, many homeowners have been enjoying for some time now.

Leaf herding.

I’ve always loved fall, though, and so I was thrilled when our huge trees started turning lovely shades of yellow, red, orange. For several mornings in a row, I enjoyed a cup of coffee and the view.

Then one morning, we’re all startled from our slumber by a “whump” and a “bzzzzz.” We run outside to see what’s happening. It turned out that “whump” is the sound of collective leaves falling to the ground and “bzzzzz” is the monotone chorus of neighborhood leaf blowers.

“We need a leaf blower,” my husband says. “I’ll go research options…”

“No way,” I proclaim. (Keep in mind this was BEFORE my morning cup of coffee.) “We’ll just use good, old-fashioned rakes for good, old-fashioned aerobic, family fun. Shouldn’t take more than half an hour, right?”

That evening, all four of us arm ourselves with rakes. As we rake, more leaves fall. A few hours later, it’s dark, so two of us aim flashlights to help the two with rakes see to keep raking. We have raked so many leaves to the curb that we have turned the road in front of us into a one-way lane, and still the leaves are falling faster than we can rake.

“Enough,” I declare. “Tomorrow morning, we’re going to buy a leaf blower.”

“Well, if you insist,” my husband says. “I’ll go do research.”

The next afternoon, we have our new leaf blower. I like it because it is red and shiny. My husband likes it because it is electric and made of titanium or something. (He’s done his research.)

“This will be great,” I say. “It’ll just take us a half hour to move all these leaves to the curb!”

Thus, we become leaf herders… for the next two hours. At least this time, though, it’s still light when we’re done and we survey our green, leaf-free yard with satisfaction. My husband writes me a note. (We can’t talk just yet because our ears are still ringing from the leaf blower’s “bzzzzz.”) The note says: “Same time, next week?” I write back, “sure!”

So we retire for the evening, pleased at how relatively easy this whole leaf herding thing is turning out to be, now that we have a red, shiny titanium leaf blower… until we’re awoken the next morning by a loud “whump.”

We run to the window and look out. Our yard is again covered in leaves. Not only that, but an even more powerful leaf blower than ours—Mother Nature’s overnight windstorm—has blown the leaves from their curbside corral back onto the yard, where they’re skittering freely, making little “woo-hoo!” sounds as they trip over one another in an effort to get as far away from the curb as possible.

Out we go, to herd them back to the curb.

Now, the “whump!” (leaves falling), the “bzzzzz!” (us leaf-herding), and the “woo hoo!” (leaves gone wild) has become a daily routine.

Eventually, when all the leaves have fallen and been raked up, I know it will be a real relief.

But deep down, I’m not really looking forward to that moment, because I know this winter I’ll look at the bare limbs of our dozen big trees and long for spring… and the first signs of winter re-leaf.