Behold the mighty oak

Without fail, the Captain and I argue over how to deal with the leaves in our yard come this time of year when the magnificent trees in our neighborhood morph into hideous monsters that do nothing all day but drop their refuse onto our yards and streets.

One year, capitulating to his hatred of all things yard work-related, I waited to collect them all once and only once rather than attacking them every week as I normally do. We had leaves up to our knees. Well, I did. They were more ankle height on Jeff.

But they swirled into the house as if seeking shelter. They blew into the cars, into my hair, into my mouth at the slightest breeze. Walking into the house was a crunch fest.

Alison loved diving into the piles. She could have probably jumped from the roof and landed safely the piles were so high. Bagging them all took forEVER and it was so cold. I vowed to never wait so long again.

This year, my strategy is to mulch them at least once a week. It requires a lot of passes with the mower, but it's a great way to rack up steps, and it doesn't result in a sore back. Jeff is gone to a beer event in Chicago, Ali is focused on homework and college applications so there was nothing holding me back from time in the yard.

I was feeling pretty proud of myself and optimistic about the idea of escaping bag duty. But even my additional time with the mower didn't get me to my step goal, so afterward, I took a walk around my neighborhood.

I noted how many of my neighbors' trees had already shed completely and now stretched bare, skeletal arms to the blue sky. I complain about the leaves, but the carpets of color they laid were spectacular.

Most of the yards wore one color, but one sported canary yellow as well as crimson, with a beautiful blur of both where they came together. On the one hand, I was sad that so many had fallen already. On the other, it meant less work for me in the coming weeks.


I got back to my house and was greeted by a mostly green yard with spots of leaves that I didn't dig out of the flower beds. I figuratively patted myself on the back for being so smart to use technology to fight my seasonal battle.

But then, I looked up. I'm pretty sure the squirrels in my oak tree -- and maybe the tree itself -- were laughing at me. Yeah, the shorter, lesser tress might have let go. This baby is hanging on.