My yard is absolutely full of leaves. They are various shades of gold and orange. My apples are on the ground. I noticed one single apple clinging onto the top branch which I picked last evening before heading to score a triple VB match. I didn’t have time to pick up the others off the ground and now I don’t have interest in saving them. They must have fallen sometime during the week I went for Mikelle’s birthing of baby Easton.
I’m not much of a canner, anyway.
I look at the yards in the neighborhood and they are clear of leaves. Their owners have super yard vacuums and leaf blowers. They rake and blow and mow and vacuum until all traces of autumn are gone from their grounds.
Me? I leave the leaves, let them pile up. Let them sit for months and mow them up in the Spring. I don’t mind the mess. I don’t mind the noise of crunching leaves. I don’t mind the disheveled and abandoned look. I don’t mind that my yard looks like fall. With 75 trees, it would take me a month of Sundays to make it look like the neighbors’ yards so I don’t bother.
When my visiting teachers come I half-heartedly apologize for the state of my lawn. When the UPS guy comes, he comments on how many leaves I have. When people drive by I imagine they are judging behind their friendly wave. When family comes they know it’s always going to be like this in the fall.
I have more important things to do.
I’m not sure exactly what, but every single thing I can think of is more important than raking leaves.