Chance Is Giving Up the Fight

We have a new toy.

Mulcher and helpful friend.

Our house stands under very tall trees on a tree-lined avenue, all of which is lovely and keeps us cool in all but the highest temperatures but makes autumn a stone bitch. Pete estimates that each year he fills about thirty-five of those giant leaf bags that the tiny town then hauls off. The amount of fossil fuel we’re burning up for no good reason is appalling and our yard is too small for an annual composting job of this size. Thus, we are going to try out chopping up approximately thirty-five bags of leaves, turning them under the pulverized shale that passes for soil here and mulching on top to protect roots in winter. Our new toy is in for a workout; the dump truck: not so much.

Drusy says, “Talk to the paw.”

I’ve been thinking a lot about the pros and cons. I’d prefer to mulch – yes, we’re using that as a verb now – without using electricity. Georg suggested some time ago that we use the lawn mower, but our yard is so small Pete mows with the old fashioned kind of mower without an engine. That pretty much swoooshes! the leaves around the yard but chops up next to nothing. Online reviews of the new toy are all or nothing, love or hate. Everybody within twenty feet should wear bomb squad suits or It’s a frigging miracle! I’m for giving it a try. I mean, today I was picking tomatoes, spit out something wet and my upper lip swelled alarmingly for no reason I understood. Life is short. And next spring we could have better soil.

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