Why not laugh? (Leafblower Edition)
I wasn’t actually going to blow the leaves.
Our crotchety, silver faced boxer, Mater, went around marking his territory in leaf piles throughout the yard. The girls looked on with disdain and wondered aloud which piles were safe for jumping. I found a rake with a half-broken handle and started shoveling sweeps of tainted leaves.
“Just stay out of these, the rest are safe-ish” I called over my shoulder. Moments later, hunched halfway underneath the slide, I heard a voice at the fence line. Our next-door neighbor had appeared with his leaf blower. “Ya wanna borrow this?” he asked. He cranked the blower before I could answer. How could I tell him that I had no idea how to hold that, much less blow leaves? I couldn’t tell him, of course. I smiled like he’d saved the day and gave an over-enthusiastic “YES!” and reached over to grab it. He turned to walk away and I hurried over to hide behind the treehouse to find the start button. I’d seen this done once or twice. I smashed the biggest button I could find and the blower sprang to life. I think it surprised us all. Mater made himself scarce. My toddler made a beeline for safety. The girls scattered. I began to chaotically blow leaves in every direction.
After blowing one pile to the fence line with no strategy, I got distracted by the size of the yard and the number of leaves. I walked over to another corner and started blowing those leaves, to nowhere in particular. I cut my eyes to see if my neighbor was judging me. No sign of him. I quickly realized there was a zero percent chance I was going to accomplish anything. I resolved that blowing off the walkway was a responsible thing to do. I blew the leaves into a tornado, clearing the path. Focusing on another section of leaves, I somehow scattered them all back across the walkway. The motor started to smell like it was over heating. What if I broke the leaf blower, and had nothing to show for it? I’d been blowing leaves a full fifteen minutes. That had to be enough.
Knowing I couldn’t return the blower without anything to show for it, I attempted to blow random leaves into a pile at the bottom of the slide. Satisfied with my work, I went back into hiding behind the treehouse to look for the off switch. I found it. I was proud of my yard work. I wiped my brow to show my daughter how hard I’d worked. “See what mom did? I blew you a new pile here.” It was time to return the blower, 17 minutes later.
I took a child with me for distraction, as I made my way next door. Mrs. Michelle was outside. “Oh thanks so much for the leaf blower, here you go,” I said as I handed it back. “I just needed it to blow a pile,” I said gesturing to the yard. It was then that I caught a glance of the yard from another perspective. I panicked. I tried to make myself bigger and stand between Michelle and the view of my yard, using my arms with big waving motions as I talked. “Yep, just a pile for the kids, now I’ve got that all done, thanks soooo much!” She started to respond “There sure are a lot of lea—” but I abruptly changed the subject, complimenting her garden gnome. “What a fantastic garden gnome!” I exclaimed as I inched back towards my house, toddler in tow. “Is that a hat he’s wearing? That’s too much! We’ll see ya!” I turned on my heel and shuffled back to my door, crunching a whole tree’s worth of leaves under my feet.
Obviously, I couldn’t be seen outside any more. I ushered everyone back in the house and took a good long look at the yard from my kitchen window. Bald spots everywhere. It looked like the yard had gotten the mange. It was actually exponentially better before I’d attempted to blow the leaves at all. The rake with half a handle could’ve done a better job, without my help. The pile at the bottom of the slide was hardly a pile at all. I made a note for myself.
To Do:
Learn to blow leaves
Teach daughters to blow leaves
Reclaim neighborhood reputation
Until then, these kids better enjoy that pile. This is my last one of the season.
