Leaving the leaves

If I still lived in my house in Charlotte NC, I would be enjoying this maple tree in my yard. But then it would be raking season.

The neighborhood was filled with huge trees, especially the park across the street. All their leaves would end up in my yard and I’d spend days raking and bagging and raking and bagging. Fifteen to twenty of the jumbo bags lined up at the curb.

Then there was the ivy and wisteria to hack back. And the rain gutters to clean. And the lawn to weed and feed and mow. And the bushes to prune. And the trim to paint. And the retaining wall to repair. And the chimney to repoint. And the driveway to patch (and later shovel).

Then there was the roof to replace and the ceiling to patch where the roof had leaked. And the furnace to replace. And the water heater to replace. And the air conditioner to replace. And plumbing to be reworked. Oh, and a kitchen to completely remodel.

I don’t miss that house at all. And I don’t miss the person I had become during those seventeen years as a homeowner. I miss the artwork, though. And the few days each year that maple tree was aflame.