RIVER CITY JOURNAL: FALLING LEAVES CRY FOR A YARD TO RAKE

Autumn is wonderful, because it is cool, the humidity has subsided and the trees are putting on their Halloween costumes. Surely God made the Ozarks so folks would have something to look forward to in the fall.

This has been a strange summer, and autumn promises to be just as confusing. The reason is simple: After many years of mowing the lawn, trimming the hedges, weeding the flower beds and pruning the trees, you are living in an apartment again.

There is a lack of rhythm when you are used to yard chores and suddenly there is no yard. The cycle of growing things helps you keep pace with the world. Without a yard, you must observe from a distance. The Presbyterians across the street have wonderful flowers -- the roses are spectacular -- but it isn't the same as having your own mums to pamper all spring and summer so they can show off right about now.

Raking and mulching

Fall means raking leaves, which you did for years and years until you discovered mulching lawn mowers. This put an end to both the bagging of grass clippings and the raking of leaves. Clippings and leaves, you discovered, make wonderful fertilizer when mulched. But you know what? Raking leaves was kind of fun, mainly because it was an excuse to be outdoors during one of about two months a year when it is really worthwhile to be outside in Missouri.

When the boys were young, and Blackie the cat was in his prime, raking leaves was a festival of made-up games that often left more leaves in the yard than you really intended.

The revelry would start in all seriousness with rakes and gloves and willing arm muscles. But soon the piles of leaves would become too tempting. Blackie, in particular, loved them. He would burrow into a good-sized pile and wait patiently until someone approached. Then he would spring from the pile in an explosion of elm and oak and sycamore, only to race around the house to find another attack hideout. Soon the boys would have a pile big enough for them to hide in, imitating a cat who was pretty smug about being able to teach them a thing or two. Goodness knows no one ever taught Blackie anything.

Real attraction: fire

Finally, one huge pile of leaves would be collected in the now-bare garden space. Every boy (and every man, if he is honest) has a thing about fire. It must be part of the primeval instinct. Boys and men will spend hours coaxing a leaf pile into a conflagration that far surpasses any fireworks display. And when all the embers have been extinguished, there are no more leaves, only a good excuse to drink apple cider and think about next year's crop of foliage.

It is tough to watch the leaves falling on the grounds around the Common Pleas Courthouse outside your windows. Here's a thought: Maybe the county needs some help with yard work around the bandstand. Or maybe the Presbyterians could use a hand trimming up that holly tree.

Wonder if they have any cats over there.

~R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.