New leaf notes

The lawns are covered in burgundy and orange. Fall has proven its name to be truthful and apt once again. So, I spent the morning raking up leaves. Filling bags. Realizing how out of shape my upper body is. 

I always find raking to be a very meditative experience. There's a certain zen-like atmosphere created. The repetitive motion of tines on grass. The rustle of the leaf pile as it grows larger. The detachment required to ignore the constantly falling leaves on just cleared areas or the sudden gusts of wind. It can certainly bring one into an odd harmony with the world around them.

Raking always makes me think about the massive industry that surrounds the fact that leaves die and change color. Being a life-long New Englander, the idea of traveling to witness such a thing baffles me. But, people do it all the time. Tourists. Sightseers. TV and film productions. I once spent an entire week in Lenox, MA with the Weather Channel, working on a shoot that consisted solely of leaves. Scattered leaves. Piles of leaves. Leaves with children. Leaves with a school bus. Leaves with adults. If you could shoot something with leaves, it was shot over the course of that week.

Millions and millions of dollars. Every year. To watch leaves. Never to rake. Just to watch.

Boggling.

I recently learned that West Hartford has a leaf vacuuming service. This, of course, explains the crushed piles of wet, slippery leaves I get to drive over every day that litter the roads. Some people seem to have gotten a little ahead of themselves, since the service does not begin until next week.

The whole thing is very strange to me. For a town that unveiled a "survival plan" just last week to, according to the West Hartford News, "help (the town) survive the current economic crisis," such a service seems a bit bloated, doesn't it?

But, I suppose watching the leaves get sucked up is probably kind of cool.

And, it keeps at least one person employed.

Oh well . . .

I got about halfway done in the yard before my arms felt like jelly. Good enough for now. There will always be more to collect. And, by the time I get back out there, I'll probably be hard pressed to decipher where I had even left off.

And I'll start all over again.