“I remember raking leaves and then getting hot cocoa,” She of We said.  “I remember raking leaves and getting chest pains,” He of We countered.  They were discussing why leaf clearing had become such an ordeal around here.

Here is the Northeast where the fall foliage can be quite striking.  It is the thing that sometimes makes one yearn for days of real SLR cameras and big panoramic prints on the wall over the sofa stretching from end to end.  But as leaves turn color, so do they fall. 

He or We’s mini-estate holds 3 fifty-foot maples, a half-dozen somewhat larger oaks, a red-bud, a crab apple, a locust, and a couple of “just trees” on a space smaller than most fast food restaurants’ parking lots.  There are lots of leaves that fall into that tiny space.  But over the course of a few weeks they get raked or blown or sucked up into the lawn tractor’s grass catchers and tossed over the hill waiting to become the next generation’s compost.  She of We’s lands boast a similar variety of foliage droppers on another parking lot.  Her tree droppings are likewise dealt with and before the first snow falls to put the grass to bed, the grass is freed of the trees’ former dressings and able to breathe through the winter.

As Norman Rockwell like as we’d seem to be doing our job, we’ve noticed that for many, leaf-clearing is not the pleasant pastime it once was.  Just over the past few days we’ve seen neighbors blowing leaves into the streets we suppose in the hopes that the wind of the passing cars will pull the offensive vegetation to the corner where it will board the local bus into town and perhaps get lost and never find its way back.  We’ve also noticed another routinely blowing his leaves into the neighbor’s yard.  You almost could hear him thinking “they came off your trees, they’re your leaves!”

There was once a time when raking leaves into a big pile for the kids to jump into was a passing rite of fall.  Then we would drag them to the burn barrel (the leaves, not the kids) where the sweet smell of burning maple leaves would compete with the warming scent of that hot cocoa and maybe of a toasted marshmallow or a hot dog on a stick.  We remember those crisp autumn afternoons pulling the rakes through the yards, the bright sunshine never seen any other time of year dappling through the remains of the trees’ summer wear.  There may not be any cocoa each time some leaf clearing is done, and thanks to either asthmatic bleeding hearts or safety-conscious volunteer fire companies, leaf burning is a thing of the past.  Still, Both of We get our lawns free of the former colorful flora without much whining.

Now we wait for the news article about two neighbors coming to blows over one blowing his leaves into the other’s yard.  And there will be some story about someone receiving a ticket for raking debris into a city street in violation of some or another ordinance while the offender stands at the curb in front of the TV camera asking where he was supposed to rake them.  Somebody at work will question why he even bothered to plant any trees and will be looking up numbers for tree removal services so he won’t have to go through “that” any more. 

We don’t know.  The leaves aren’t that hard to deal with.  And after the whining we’ll have a glass of wine and a plate of fresh fruit and cheese.  Cocoa and marshmallows?  Next you’ll be expecting us to use the leaves to fill a plastic bag that looks like a pumpkin.  Sheesh!  Make that a bottle of wine.  Each.

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?