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Slippery rock Gazette
The Blower Brigades
leaf blowers and outboards are con- siderably more muffled than the originals.
If that makes me an industry apolo- gist, so be it. When your house is plunked in the mid- dle of a forest, as mine is, you jockey a leaf blower from September through New Year’s. It’s a decidedly more efficient way to round up bazillions of calling cards
from maples, oaks, hicko- ries, sourwoods, dogwoods and other deciduous trees after their autumnal beauty fades.
It’s much easier on the arms, elbows and shoul- ders, too. Especially, ahem, if you’re dealing with rota- tor cuff issues.
YetasIworkmyway across the yard, it never ceases to amaze me how some individual leaves flaunt the laws of
September 2019|13 © MARK ANDERSON. www.andertoons.com
The sounds of the season are upon us — and I ain’t talkin’ the first rendition of “Jingle Bells” as merchants launch their Christmas sales on Labor Day.
Instead, I speak of leaf blowers.
Poke your head outside any waking hour between now and late winter, and you’ll hear blower brigades blaring loudly.
Some folks object to this noise. They would prefer the more subtle, soothing sound of rake tines. A quar- ter-century ago, before leaf blowers evolved from ca- sual trinkets to everyman lawn care necessities, I’d receive occasional phone calls about them from angry homeowners.
“Those (blankety-blank) things have ruined fall!” was the gist of this ire. “They’re too loud! Whatever hap- pened to raking leaves the
Sam Venable
Department of Irony
old-fashioned way?”
I always noted an import-
ant factor about these calls. In nearly every instance, they came from posh neigh- borhoods where leaf-gath- ering chores were assigned to the hired help.
No wonder Mr. and Mrs. Bigbucks were upset! They couldn’t sit on the veranda, sip cocktails, and enjoy a peaceful fall after- noon while Booger, Joe Billy, and Earl Gene were out there doing all the “scritch-scritch-scritching.”
T’was ever thus, I suppose.
I’m too young to remem- ber when the only sound of recreational transpor- tation on lakes, rivers and streams came from oars, paddles and sails flapping in the breeze. There was
“Wait a second. We’re the O’s? Well that explains a lot!”
no internal combustion interference back then. And even after outboards did arrive, what began as the quiet “putt-putt” from the occasional six-horse Johnson has escalated these days to the jet-roar of twin 250s.
So yes, I do understand. On land or water, noise pol- lution is a problem.
But I also know it isn’t going away anytime soon—even though newer
aerodynamics.
They stubbornly refuse to
be lifted into flight, no mat- ter the hurricane swirling inches away. All it takes is a bent stem in the grass, or a serrated edge clinging to vines, or a spine caught just-so beneath an exposed root, and you’d swear they were anchored in concrete.
Go ahead. Varoom to your heart’s, or temper’s, content. They won’t budge.
For Pete’s sake, I’ve even seen certain leaves remain welded in place until the blower angle is slightly
adjusted. Then they rocket off to parts unknown. Amazing.
That’s one problem Booger, Joe Billy, and Earl Gene didn’t have to worry about as they “scritch- scritch-scritched” across Mr. and Mrs. Bigbucks’ pa- latial lawn.
Sam Venable is an au- thor, stand-up comedian, and humor columnist for the Knoxville (TN) News Sentinel. He may be reached at sam.venable@ outlook.com.