The Leaf Blower
We have five Ficus trees in our tiny garden. For most of the year they’re easy enough to manage, requiring very little water, and a professional trim twice annually. But during the summer they drop pods. (Lots of them.)
When Sophee was a puppy she began eating the pods, which are toxic to dogs. After much discomfort on her part and worry on ours (along with lofty Los Angeles veterinary bills), she recovered. But we were left wondering: do we get rid of these beautiful trees? The only substantial trees on this lot? The trees that provided us with shade and privacy? The trees that make an otherwise pale space pop with life? The trees whose branches sway in the coastal breeze and gift us with one of the Earth’s most beautiful sounds? Or can we find some way to deal with the pods annually without them poisoning our sweet rescue beagles?
… Should I buy a leaf blower?
Thankfully, as she matured, Soph learned not to eat the pods. As with the grapes that occasionally drop from their vine, the dogs seem to inherently know to steer clear of them.
Over the nine years here, those Ficus trees have grown. And grown.
With (blissfully) more tree comes (not-so-blissfully) more fallen leaves. They aren’t those gorgeous, wide, orange leaves that herald in the changing season. Instead, they’re the little, cracking leaves that flood our pea gravel pathways within hours and make everything feel a bit chaotic in this compact footprint.
Should I buy a leaf blower now ?
Confession: I did buy a leaf blower. (Pre-pandmic, of course.)
It sat on the stoop in its box for a few days. I’d glare at it from my makeshift desk on the kitchen counter and shake my head at it (and myself). Eventually, I decided to return it, unopened, and embrace the leaves instead.
Not only are the leaves helpful with balancing out the matter in our compost tumbler, but they’re also a small part of the natural world that we get to experience here in our tiny patch of land that was once dry, cracked earth.
The soil is becoming healthier. The butterflies and ladybugs and bees are growing in numbers. (So much so that we set up a bug hotel so that some of them hopefully stick around in the winter.)
How lucky are we to shuffle through these little reminders of a regenerated, tiny plot of land? Particularly now, as the light indicates that the summer is coming to a close, but the heat has yet to ease up, so the shade from the trees is deeply appreciated.
On a recent morning, I needed to clean up the walkway to record a video for a client. I began picking up the hundreds (thousands?) of leaves by hand. I could’ve borrowed our neighbor’s rake, but they’re not that much more effective on gravel, and I thought to myself: You’re always trying to slow down. Here’s your chance.
While I was out there, West joined me. We made a game out of gathering the leaves, filling up as many baskets from our rack on the stoop as possible.
He loved it.
I loved it.
It was slow.
It was simple.
No emails. No phone.
Just our hands and the leaves.
Everyone’s life is complicated enough as it is right now. If someone decides to buy something that makes their everyday feel a bit saner, I’m not here to guilt them for it. But in this context, the leaf blower experience was a good reminder for me that this (largely plastic) item was just one more item I could go without. And in going without, I got a whole lot more in return.
