Although the incessant hum of fossil-fuel-guzzling leaf blowers does soothe the savage beast (i.e. it lulls my otherwise rambunctious dog to sleep), are the really necessary?Rake, blow or better yet, gaze
Published November 13, 2005
Copyright © 2005, Chicago TribuneThis time of year, as the cascade of leaves reaches its peak, so does the frenzy to blow, rake, mulch or otherwise whisk them from sight. Homeowners stand sentry with their rakes or leaf-blowers. Some we know actually resort to plucking errant leaves by hand, lest one sully their perfect suburban tableau.
Why this rush? After all, we admire them when they're on the trees. We drive hours to see the leaves changing. We gasp at these painterly vistas, splashed with russet, crimson, gold and amber. But once the leaves twirl lifelessly to the ground, they become vermin to be swept away as quickly as possible.
Those willing to call a temporary moratorium to the compulsive leaf-sweeping, however, will be amply rewarded. They will find that it is possible, at least for a few days, to silence that tiny voice urging a tidy leaf-scraped lawn at all costs.
Then a former leaf eradicator is free to admire the brilliant colors of autumn, not only on the branches, but also on the ground. Fallen maple leaves, for instance, paint the ground in a dazzling display of yellow--lemon, canary, gold.
Those who merely see hours of backbreaking labor to bag all those leaves are missing a true autumn pleasure. They miss the profusion of colors and shades. They ignore the satisfying crunch underfoot. And at night, they are deaf to the papery symphony of leaves, tossed by breezes, as they rustle and chitter against the house, around the yard, on the roof.
This time of year, every neighborhood buzzes with other sounds: the forces of leaf retrieval and transport. It's rake vs. blow (or split the difference: mulch).
The blaring leaf-blowers come out in force, their whiny, rackety motors spewing pollution at all hours of morning and night. Meanwhile, the rakers, often grumbling about the leaf-blowers, tend to their own piles of leaves, commending themselves for their environmental friendliness and all the excellent exercise.
We confess that we've been among those who obsessively patrol the lawn at the first drop of a leaf, ready to pounce. (Out of the gutters! we splutter.) We've admired the handiwork of the landscapers, who expertly scour lawns and bushes of every last leaf, leaving the browning lawn looking hard, naked and vulnerable.
Not this year.
While others gather the leaves assiduously, even obsessively, we'll be taking a long stroll amid the fallen leaves, soaking up the waning days of autumn. The rake can wait for another day.
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