Autumn in New England is a beautiful time. The colors of the leaves, the brisk days, and the preparations for winter.
Sunday, I finished stacking all the wood except for some twisted cherry knots and cleaned up the four buckets of “mulch” that always comes with the wood. Typically, this would not be a reason to lament all the work to come, but the woods behind the house have cultivated a fine crop of leaves this year.
While I’ve been busy stacking, they’ve been littering. So now begins the long slog through the deep drifts of maple, ash, oak, and other leaves. It’s time to knuckle down, get serious, and get those rakes working. I know that if I haven’t cleared the back by the woods before the end of this month, I’ll lose the battle. It’ll all be there for winter, wet and soggy, matted down, and resistant to raking. Then when the first storm of December comes along, it’ll be too late, and I’ll shovel through the snow and then the mulched layer of leaves.
Autumn in New England. The season that keeps on giving.
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