The Grasshopper, the Ant and Alison's interpretation

Jeff has always wanted to let all the leaves fall down before we ever make a move toward a rake or a leaf blower or a bag.

I've never been able to wait -- until this year. The weather had been too nice, and for most of the fall, I've been able to mow it all up. But then the mower -- now in it's 10th year -- stopped starting on me, and I need Jeff's help to get it going. Funny how busy a guy who hates yard work can be when his wife wants him to help her get the mower started.

So today was the day. There are still a few leaves hanging on for dear, desiccated life up there, but our front yard was pretty much buried. A few of my Bunco sisters came by and I think Amer was afraid she'd get lost in a leaf bank trying to get from her car to the house.

Bunco is a story I need to tell, but I'm surprised my fingers are still working. They're still connected to my arms, which are connected to my back, and none of those parts are speaking to me. They're screaming, actually, and none of it's good. So the Bunco stories will have to wait.

Ali and I sent Jeff off to basketball and then tackled the yard. She was a pretty good helper for quite some time. But then she needed a break, so I told her she could take 5. She started climbing the Magnolia tree while I kept blowing leaves into a small mountain.

It's hard to hear with that thing blowing, but finally I heard the "Mommy! Mommy! I'm stuck."

This I'd heard before, and generally it's just Ali with a momentary hesitation. "Seriously?" I shout back, turning to look. And there she was. Higher than she'd ever been, clinging to a tree, unable to land her feet anywhere.

A neighbor happened to be out in his yard. We'd never officially met, but his wife is a nurse at the clinic we all go to, so we nod and wave.

I know he's heard me question her, but as I look up and over, he starts over, shouts that he has a ladder and disappears. I go up the tree. Alison is starting to get really frightened, and the guy -- my new best neighbor, John -- comes running with the ladder.

I get to her, but can't get positioned to actually grab her independently. I have part of her, and we tell her to swing over to the ladder. "I've seen plenty of cats up trees, but never a little girl," John says.

Ali sees no humor in it. But after a while, she agrees to put her arms around his neck and they skinny down the tree.

She was a little bit embarrassed, but remembered to thank him once her feet were planted on terra firma -- with no prompting. He disappeared as quick as he'd come.

Later, while I was back to work and Ali was looking for another break, she decided we should go inside. I said we could in a little while.

"Do you remember that story about the grasshopper and the ant?"

"Sure," I say.

"You know, where the grasshopper didn't work but the ant worked all summer?"

"Yeah. I know the one," I say.

"Well, do you know the rest of the story?"

"Uh, no Paul Harvey, I don't."

"Well, turns out that the grasshopper played and played and even got to enjoy himself in the snow when winter came," Alison said. "And the ant, well, the ant froze to death."

"Really?"

"Yeah. And you know what that means?"

"No. What does it mean?"

"It means that Moms and Dad shouldn't work all the time or they'll have no time to play with their girls and boys," she said.

So we agreed that she could go inside and that I'd join her soon. Jeff came home, I threw down the tools and we took our walk to Northside News, then he and I finished the front lawn. Later, the Ogdens came over and we played Yahtzee and Payday.

I don't know if I can ever fully embrace my inner grasshopper but it's good to let it leap out occasionally.