As leaves fall, spirits rise

W hat is it with the leaves this year? Here it is November, and they're only beginning to fall.

The conventional wisdom is the drought is to blame. But I think the leaves are worried about falling into the street and getting fined by West Cocalico Township.

Anyway, the leaves are finally giving up the ghost, and for this I'm glad.

I actually like raking leaves.

OK, let me qualify that. I like raking leaves when they're in my yard. You can invite me over to rake your leaves if you want, but I'm not coming.

One of the things I appreciate about raking leaves is that all I need is a rake.

I don't need an extension cord. I don't need a stepladder. I don't have to sharpen anything.

I just need a rake.

Hanging in my garage are several rakes. My wife buys them. She likes buying shoes and rakes.

In our household we have four people and six rakes. It's a status thing. We may never have skied at Aspen, but when we show the neighbors our rake collection, they struggle to hide their envy. Quality time    My wife has other reasons for wanting to make sure our family will never be inconvenienced if United Rake Makers of America goes on strike.

She likes having extra rakes on hand because she thinks raking leaves is something we can enjoy with our children.

My wife has been getting our kids rakes since before they were potty trained. Did you know the literal translation of the Chinese word for "ill-advised" is "toddler with a rake?"

My boys are now old enough to safely and effectively operate a rake.

That means they are now old enough to safely and effectively operate a bicycle and take off in pursuit of an activity that brings them greater enjoyment than raking leaves with their parents.

It would be unfair to my sons if I also didn't mention that whenever I go stand in my yard with a rake and anticipate a happy time with my family, my wife never rushes out, either.

I like to imagine that's because she's baking tollhouse cookies for me to enjoy when I come in from my raking.

It's a fantasy, to be sure, but a harmless one that shields me from thinking about the possibility that she's actually planning a trip to buy shoes. Power tool    When it comes to rakes, I have a favorite.

I grasp its firm, smooth handle and get it down from between two nails in the garage. It has heft without being heavy. I find it balanced and easy to cast out, like a dragline at a strip mine.

Then I pull its array of plastic fingers - black, curled, sturdy yet pliant - against the ground and sweep together piles of aromatic, clingy leaves.

I can't think of a chore that gives me greater satisfaction than raking.

I work up a minimum of sweat and get instant gratification: exposed turf. There's nothing like transforming a yard smothered by leaves into great swaths of grass.

What I like best about raking is it's a simple way to impress my neighbors with my neat and tidy lawn.

Some people in the neighborhood keep their yards looking like the fairways at Augusta National all year long.

How I envy their lush, immaculately edged carpets, fed with a select blend of fertilizers and herbicides applied by men in green jumpsuits and trimmed with the fastidiousness that a barber gives the head of a TV anchor.

Most of the year I can't compete with the neighborhood lawn Nazis.

But when the leaves of mighty oaks and red maples drift to earth and indiscriminately litter yards far and wide, I can compete.

I grab my trusty rake, chase down every last leaf and give my newly pristine lawn a fleeting moment in the sun.

I feel good ... until neighbors one-up me.

They march out of their garages wielding leaf blowers bigger than bazookas, create a racket like an F-14 Tomcat taking off and in seconds blast their leaves to smithereens.

I'm left to feel like a candle maker seeing his first light bulb. Technology is forever changing an age-old November ritual.

It's dawning on me that rakes, and the men who love them, are becoming obsolete.

Honey, I need a cookie.

E-mail is welcome at jhawkes@lnpnews.com