26 October 2009

gathering leaves

Wish I’d gotten a picture this weekend of the unusual harvest I accumulated on Sunday afternoon after the rain stopped: A cow barn full of leaves! Maybe next weekend.

I raked about seven tarps’ worth from the lawn between the house and barn. More to do, too, to the south of the house. I may venture up into the woods and grab even more. Scott, the man who mows for us, has offered to drop off his leaf shredder on Saturday so that I can make quick work of my harvest. Scott tells me the machine shreds and then bags the leaves that I will then save for mulch à la Sydney Eddison once the ground freezes.

Robert Frost seems to have a poem for everything. I think he may have been hanging out with me for a while on Sunday afternoon, long enough to hear me curse out the tarp that kept flying away on the October wind.

Gathering Leaves
Robert Frost

Spades take up leaves
No better than spoons,
And bags full of leaves
Are light as balloons.

I make a great noise
Of rustling all day
Like rabbit and deer
Running away.

But the mountains I raise
Elude my embrace,
Flowing over my arms
And into my face.

I may load and unload
Again and again
Till I fill the whole shed,
And what have I then?

Next to nothing for weight,
And since they grew duller
From contact with earth,
Next to nothing for color.

Next to nothing for use.
But a crop is a crop,
And who’s to say where
The harvest shall stop?

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