One of the most frustrating aspects of having neighbors is living with their choice of trees. The cottonwoods just over our back fence constantly drop either cotton or leaves into our yard to be cleaned up. I suspect the neighbor trained them to do that so they wouldn't make a mess in his own yard. On the few weeks a year when they're not dropping junk, they're busy sending up little shoots, recognizance spies who plan to infiltrate our grass.
In front is the brilliant yellow maple tree whose personal mission is to lay an even layer of leaves on the street and mask any hint of asphalt. Nice special effect until it rains. Then it turns to an even layer of brown sludge.
This tree law goes both ways. When some neighbors moved in behind us, they thought we were throwing grapes at their dogs. No, it was our cherry tree throwing cherries at them.
Sorry 'bout that.
2 comments:
Hey, I know how you feel. Every year I end up with 25 bags of wet, heavy leaves - all from the cottonwood tree leaves in my neighbor's yards. I want to live where the leave will burn!
I currently have an acre plus of leaves from one to a dozen thick thanks to a solid week of rain. Much of the lawn does not show at all right now since I have been unable to "vac them up" while they are soaked because the mower chutes and tubs just plug up with the shredded debris. What's more, maybe half the remaining crop hangs in the trees waiting for the next wind or the first hard frost.
This has been a really brilliant autumn season with stunning reds, yellows, golds and maroon colors against the background of unturned greens and blue-green varieties of connifers. The exceptional beauty this year is a genuine blessing, but I still don't relish cleaning up the mess after the leaves have fallen. Worse, I have run out of places where I can stack a ton of potential compost.
Patty, how about I bring four or five trailer loads of raw leaves over to your yard so you can compost them for the garden?
PS to Kevin: I wish I could just burn them off too, but the environmentalistic do-gooders took that pleasure away long ago. No burn season here, alas!
Post a Comment