We were hit by plagues.
Two of them.
When we lived at old Chewville, we talked about how things would be when we got our own land.
“We’ll have lots of fruit trees and nut trees,” we would say, “And they will shade us from the hot summer sun, and give us beautiful colors in the fall.”
Sure enough, the new Chewville has LOTS of trees. The trees DID shade us all summer, and the leaves WERE beautiful in the Fall…
For two weeks.
Then, they dropped those beautiful leaves in the yard. Daily. Millions of leaves. KNEE-FLIPPIN’-DEEP leaves.
We tried raking. We tried leafblowers. We tried mowing them into mulch. Every time we got them (almost) under control, another autumn breeze would shower us with another blanket of bronze and rust colored foliage.
It wasn’t just the lawn, either. Leaves jammed the gutters. They filled the birdbaths. They wrapped themselves around the windshield wipers of our car, and hitched rides on our shoes and jackets to scatter themselves around our house.
Of course, trees only hold so many leaves. Eventually, the last of them fell, and Chew and I tackled the knee-deep carpet of foliage with a vengeance. After NINE HOURS of combined raking, blowing, hand-plucking, and burning, the leaves were gone.
We slept well, that night. We didn’t even wake up when the wind began to howl, bringing in the second plague.
It seems that, when your house is surrounded on all four sides by cornfields, the husks decide to converge in your yard.
They buried my herb gardens, tangled in our bushes, flooded the freshly-cleaned gutters, and dangled from tree branches.
As Chew and I worked at cleaning up the husks, we made an agreement: The first person to comment, “aren’t the leaves beautiful?” next Autumn gets socked right in the mouth.