LEAF ME ALONE

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You remember how in the old Peanuts cartoon, Charlie Brown would go out and rake his leaves, and there would be that one leaf hanging around in the tree, taunting him?

Well, for those of you who feel sorry for the little blockhead, let me tell you this: I would pay handsomely for those trees, for the trees in my yard have a never-ending supply of leaves that they continually spit at me. I would love to look up one day and see one lone leaf dangling above. Because I could shoot it down.

The leaves created the usual brown blanket that comes with this time of year. I spent the better part of my Sunday raking every single leaf into a giant pile, only to turn around and realize that the trees had quickly replenished the on-ground leaf supply. Basically, I now had a yard that was still covered in leaves, but I had a big Jabba the Hutt-looking pile of refuse to go along with it. Dutifully, I am sure, I will go out next week and go through the motions, while the trees probably snicker and whisper to each other their next insidious plot: “Watch this, Frank – now I’m gonna create some wind so that his pile goes everywhere.”

But it’s not just the leaves in my yard that are causing me a headache. It’s also the acorns, or as I now refer to them, the Oak Missiles of Death. There are several large oak trees in my yard, towering over the property, boasting years and years of mammoth growth, as if they somehow have earned the right to attack me and take over my yard.

So every time I go outside, the oak trees start pelting acorns at me. They have hit me on the head twice. They have hit my daughter once. That’s right – these vicious beasts have attacked a poor, defenseless columnist. Oh, and his kid.

But they also try and attack me when I am inside. I will be sitting in my house, pecking away at my computer, thinking to myself, “If you write that, you may get banned from another store.” And then BAM!!! The acorns begin raining down on my house. My neighbor even asked me how big the acorns were, as he had heard them crashing down on me from his house. You think that I am kidding. That a little tiny acorn couldn’t possibly smash into your house like a Christmas ham dropped from a helicopter. Well, you should come over here and try and sleep some time. (That was meant to be illustrative of the loud clanging of the acorns. Please do not show up at my house with pillows.)

All through the night the acorns continue to pelt the house. And when I complain, what do I get? Nothing. That’s what. The trees don’t stop, of course. KISS could put on a live concert in my daughter’s room and she would sleep through it. And my wife? Well, let’s just say the whiskey keeps her in a deep slumber. (Editor’s note: The preceding comment was added after Mike’s wife read and OK’d the column. It would be better for his welfare if you didn’t share this little nugget with her. She does not drown herself in whiskey. It’s vodka. Ha! Kidding! Kidding, of course. OK, now, the editor would kindly ask that you not share that joke with her as well. Thank you. That is all. We now return you to your regularly scheduled column.)

I am actually a little afraid that I will get kinda used to the acorn bombings, and I won’t be able to sleep at night without them. You know how people who grew up near trains can’t sleep sometimes without a train whistle? Well, a lot of them are hobos, and I don’t recommend taking advice from Boxcar Willie. But some of them just lived NEAR the tracks and welcome the whistle as a soothing lullaby. I never had such an experience. The closest I came to constant outside noise was in college, when my room at the fraternity house overlooked a dumpster, so I got the calming smash of a giant truck hurtling garbage into its bed, then backing up to the sweet and melodious BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! at about 600 decibels.  Not exactly the rolling crash of the ocean’s waves.

Eventually, I am sure, the acorn pelting will stop, and surely there has to be an end to the all-out leaf assault I am enduring. For now, I will sprint to my car when I need to go in the yard, running a zig-zag pattern so that the trees can’t get a good shot. And, when I have to rake the yard again next week, maybe I’ll wear a hard hat or something so I don’t get an acorn lodged in my skull. Maybe if I talked to the trees, they would cut me some slack. You know, I could just say some calming, soothing words that let them know that we could get along harmoniously in the yard. Words such as, “I have a chainsaw.”