Now & Then: Leave it to Uncle Ambrose

Dear Nephew,

Your Uncle Ambrose is having second thoughts about moving to Gopher Woods.

“The village is quaint, the people are neighborly and the gophers have avoided my salet patch,” your uncle told me. “But the woods are super litterers.”

He was talking about the leaves. When we lived in Cedar Grove, we had mostly evergreens. But our Gopher Woods yard has about 50 trees, primarily oaks, maples and sweetgums.

“It’s November and the leaves in our yard have barely begun to fall,” your uncle noticed. “Not that you’d know by looking on the ground, which is pretty much covered. I look up and wonder where the leaves on the ground came from since the trees still appear full.”

Your Uncle Ambrose compared the leaf situation to an invading army with an unlimited supply of soldiers. “They just keep coming,” he said.

“They’re necessary for life on earth,” he admitted. “They take in sunlight, carbon dioxide and water to produce chemical energy, and in the process give off oxygen. That’s called photosynthesis.

“Which means my one-acre estate has an abundance of oxygen, and probably explains why I’m sometimes lightheaded,” said your uncle.

“I don’t hate leaves. It’s just that leaves refuse to remain in the trees. But they don’t all fall at once. 

“On the contrary, leaves tend to take their own sweet time. Some are anxious to hit the ground while others will linger all winter if the north winds don’t howl.

“Once the first one lets go and spirals to the ground, everybody else decides to follow. Leaves must be somehow related to sheep.

“Not all of them jump on the bandwagon instantly. Those are the thrill seeker leaves, those who are always first to grab onto the latest fad.

“Then there are the rational leaves. They give the decision to leap careful consideration, weighing all the options before finally determining that it’s the wise thing to do.

“Finally, there are the timid leaves. They’re strongly attached to the mother tree and will hold on until it’s plain that they’re virtually alone up there, ultimately yielding to peer pressure.

“That’s why an entire season is called the fall, because leaf fall spreads itself over a three-month period,” your uncle complained.

After doing his research, he estimated that our yard has a minimum of 12 million leaves. With about one-fourth fallen, that leaves (pardon the expression) about 9 million left to fall.

“I would leave the leaves on the ground but I’m at the mercy of social convention, which says I must remove the leaves from my lawn,” said your uncle. 

“Besides which, Gopher Woods has a neat-yard ordinance.

“So, it’s time again to get out my mower with the bag attachment, warm up the leaf blower, break out the rakes and spread the plastic sheet. By year’s end, the job should be complete, with just those few hangers-on still waiting for a big wind to break their grip.

“It’s a never-ending battle, one that I’m always destined to lose. The leaves are highly organized and their numbers are insurmountable.

“I know I can’t win so I just go along with them and play their game. The leaves fall and I pick up the pieces.

“There is a bright spot in this entire leaf issue,” your Uncle Ambrose told me. “After a winter of naked trees, spring dresses them up anew.

“I just have to appreciate the new crop of leaves without fretting over their imminent fall.

“And by the way, Vic, for my Christmas present this year, I could use a bigger rake.”

Love, 

Your Uncle Ambrose and Aunt Victoria

■ Larry Penkava, is a writer for Randolph Hub. Contact: 336-302-2189, larrypenkava@gmail.com.