The Futility of Fall

The weather was gorgeous here in Northern California this past weekend. Perfect for being outside and perfect for getting some yard chores done before the conditions turn more November-like again; a weekend used to catch up on our raking.

Tall pines dot our property, hovering above and around the house and each autumn, after the first big storm, they leave behind a present- bunches and bags of pine needles. They blanket the driveway, the roof and decks and as fall digs in, with each subsequent windy day, dying needles descend like rain from a passing thundercloud. So it behooves us to make the effort to keep up with them, lest we be buried.

The clean-up isn't difficult, just time consuming; most of a morning. I usually get the ladder out and start on top, pushing the fall fallings off a section of our sloped roof, hopefully without falling off myself. On the ground, Amy drags around a tarp and catches the stuff I throw down. While she dumps it into the back of the truck, I sweep another section of ceiling and wait for her return and the next big push-off.

Then we switch places; she goes on the roof and takes care of the gutters, while I sweep the driveway. We take turns cleaning the decks and when the project is completed, between the two of us, it feels like we’ve raked and pillaged millions of wayward pine needles, now transferred into the back of the pick-up truck to await their final destination: the green waste section at the landfill. During October and much of November, the folks out there see us often.

So that’s what we did Saturday. And when we left for church Sunday morning, we left behind a spic and span driveway, spotless roof and squeaky clean decks. I felt quite self-satisfied with a job well done and done for maybe another couple of weeks. But another humbling reminder of how wrong my assumptions usually are and how little I’m in control was on full display upon our return home.

The wind had come up while we were away; a strong northerly. As only God can make a tree and when it'll shed all its foliage and I guess He knew our trees were still primed for more shedding. By midday Sunday, two and half hours of sweeping and dumping and hauling on Saturday was wiped out. You wouldn’t have known we’d done anything. The property was once more showered in pine needles. Many pine needles. Piles of pine needles. Mountains of pine needles. It was a freaking mess.

Oh, but people tell keep telling me what a beautiful time of year this is.  And for the most part, I agree. So can I count on one of you to come over and rake my yard again next weekend?