It’s autumn and in the western plains of New York State, along the shores of the Great Lake Ontario, Mother Nature is trying to decide to be warm or cold. The calendar will tell us what it’s supposed to do, but She will be the final arbiter.
September is done. October and November are beautiful months: family birthdays to be celebrated, holidays to enjoy, homage paid to soldier heroes and quiet remembrances of loved ones passed.
Leaves are falling. The front yard sugar maple, a full palette of colors one day, bares itself the next.
The Japanese maple sheds its leaves, leaving a stunning necklace of magentas and reds under its drip line.
If I’m lucky, the air will stay dry and the leaves will be light, easy to gather. If I’m very lucky, the wind will blow them away and shift the burden to a neighbor’s yard.
It’s a routine that repeats itself annually.
I remember a time when falling leaves meant afternoons of exhaustive running, jumping and disappearing into tall piles of those leaves that had been raked and gathered along sidewalk curbs of our ‘three decker’ houses in central Massachusetts. Childhood was the time for play.
I remember when residents burned the leaves in the streets to get rid of them. Smoke from the fires would fill the neighborhood, wrapping itself around houses, leaving a smelly calling card in its path. I would fall asleep in sheets saturated with the odor of burnt maples and oaks if those sheets happened to be hung outside to dry on leaf burning day.
Not anymore, mind you. The leaf pile jumping has been replaced by tablets and video games. And the leaf burning has gone the route of composting.
Life changes, we grow older, become serious. Nowadays, I see the piles of leaves and am reminded of those fun filled innocent days and for a brief moment I contemplate jumping. The thought passes, I come to my senses and leave it for the dog to enjoy.
Do you remember when ‘there was time’ and you enjoyed leaf jumping?
Steve (112423)
To Daisy (RIP)
S'amusing 