Leaf me alone

Remember as a kid when leaves were fun? Raking up giant piles and jumping in them, for hours at a time. And then when you got tired of that, your dad burned them. No silly exercises of tedium like bagging them and leaving them at the curb or taking them to the landfill.

I've been on vacation this week, but not a vacation from work. We have more leaves in our yard than any other yard in the United States. I can't scientifically prove this, but I have spent at least two and sometimes up to 4-5 hours each day this week raking and blowing leaves of many sizes and shapes.

And these aren't the vibrant colors of fall from my Northern youth; these are just dingy, drabby brown oak leaves. Ugly to look at, ugly to pick up. I have the added bonus of of the fact that I have barely touched the back yard, where oodles of soggy tree droppings await. Also, by looking at what is left on the trees, I estimate that only about 50 percent of all the leaves have fallen thus far. So, I have miles to go before I rest.

I used to love fall. Cool, crisp air, pumpkins, football. Oh, it's still all those things, but now the season is invariably punctuated with the added monotonous drone of leaf blowers accompanied by the varying whiffs of gasoline.

Sometimes, being an adult isn't much fun.