I detest the sound of leaf blowers. Acres and acres of neighborhood filled with screaming high-velocity sound. A weekend afternoon polluted rotten. I’m told blowers save work, save backs, free up time for the family. Sure, while the rest of us suffer. And has anyone watched the endless sweeping back and forth, rolling the same leafy wave across 100, 200 feet of lawn? Come on! It’s combing the pile. Get a tarp, fill it with the leaves, walk to the leaf-debris destination, and be done with it. Three, maybe four times faster. But no, what’s really going on? There’s something else we men do with a hose at pocket-height, sweeping back and forth over glowing golds, reds, and yellow. It’s just as inane, but the hiss of embers of a backyard fire doesn’t take out the whole neighborhood.
Rob Traver
Still River Road
