I have a love-hate relationship with leaves.
On the one hand, you can’t beat fall foliage in New England. The brilliant colors of maple and beech, birch and red oak are simply spectacular during their brief moment in the sun.
As life-giving chlorophyll wanes, leaves lose their rich summer greens and fall shades of red, orange, yellow and light brown take center stage.
Leaf peeping is always an inexact science, depending on where you live and the weather. In northern New England, the botanical display is generally a few weeks ahead of Connecticut’s Northwest Corner because of lower nighttime temperatures.
And even in the Nutmeg State, peak season can range from mid-October in Litchfield County to early November along the Connecticut coast.
The colorful spectacle prompts a migratory impulse for many folks, with some driving hours to see the arboreal finery. There’s even a train tour through New England offered at the enticing cost of $3,395. If you sign up now for next year, you can still get that low, low price.
But think. What season are we in? Fall. All the splendor is just a tease because before long we see the downside of leaves—they fall. And that’s the rub; I have to cleanup.
Just a wild guess, but I bet the people on that autumnal train tour don’t have to worry about cleaning up the mess. If they can afford a couple of grand to ride the rails, I’m sure they can afford to have someone else rake their leaves.
Some days this fall, the canopy fell so fast it seemed as if someone had climbed up and dumped baskets full of leaves. Indeed, while bike riding one day on Schaghticoke Road, I frequently looked skyward just to make sure that no one was up in the branches.
Cleaning up after Mother Nature is always a challenge and this year presented some interesting twists.
Initially, it wasn’t too bad because of the drought. The leaves were dry and light. With my impressive backpack blower, I was in command. But as the arid conditions continued, a face mask, goggles and respirator became necessary to handle the dust storm, leaving me covered in brown grit.
Then the Winds of Thor blew in this month with gusts up to 30 miles per hour. Some days the strong winds swept the lawn clean, but most of the time I couldn’t win as the swirling winds blew leaves back in my face.
No matter how hard I tried, several factors were out of my control. First, wind and leaves know no boundaries. I’m no botanist but I believe it is true: leaves from adjoining properties are attracted to recently cleared areas, like my yard.
And then there is the ability of the mighty oak to drop its leaves weeks after its woody compadres stand barren. As bad luck would have it, most of these leaves end up in my gutters and there can be no pleasure greater than climbing up and down a ladder on an arthritic knee to keep the water flowing—if it ever rains hard again.
My friends laugh outright at my tales of tribulation, as most of them now live in condominium or townhouse communities where monthly fees make Fall labor a fading memory. I try to not let their derision get the best of me, though. After all, I have a full year to recover.
Dave Dunleavy was a longtime reporter and columnist for The News-Times in Danbury. He lives in Kent.
