Three two-cycle engines roared in a familiar cacophony heard two neighborhoods away as our efficient yard crew made quick work of the grass while chewing up the fallen leaves and sticks in the back yard, leaving behind a fine mulch to rot, then nurture next year's growth. It's all very progressive of course, not at all like gathering leaves with a big, floppy, broom rake into a pile, jumping in them and then lighting the crispy mounds afire. Gone are the days when a 10-year-old could be entrusted with a box of strike-anywhere Farmer Matches to light up the back yard with little smokey blazes you could smell two neighborhoods away.
Meanwhile, below, Mom's new back yard took on a distinctive golden crust. We've been invited to join Chris in an old-fashioned raking bee. Honored, we declined.
