"Help" with Leaves

As I headed out the door to take on the dreaded task of raking our front yard, our four-year-old granddaughter, Thea, who was visiting at the time, said, “Can I help, Grandpa?” The answer was “yes,” of course, and soon she had her shoes and jacket on and bounded down the steps.

As we gathered the leaf blower, tarp, and rakes, she was excited to have a rake just her size. I had, of course, planned it that way, having purchased the rake earlier in the week.

Soon we were focused on our task.

But not for long.

“Grandpa if we jumped in this pile, it would be fun!”

And so we did; and it was fun.

Then she laughed and threw clumps of leaves at me, so I threw some back at her, and soon I was chasing her about the front yard with the blower, and she was running and waving her arms and her pigtails were flying and soon we had to stop and rest.    

Somehow, we loaded most of the leaves onto the tarp and into the back of the truck, but it was an unorderly process that took a lot longer than it should have.

Soon it was time for her to leave. As my wife drove her away, I waved goodbye and surveyed the yard. Small, messy piles of leaves were scattered about. The tarp was rolled up in a ball. My rake was leaning against a tree, hers laying on the ground. The back of the truck was surrounded by a horseshoe-shaped pile of leaves.  It was quiet.

I still had a lot of work to do.

Along the way we both learned a few things: leaves don’t always fly in the direction you throw them, it’s fun to stomp down leaves in the truck but more fun to watch them flutter to the ground.

And hearing the unbridled squeals of a four-year-old is more important than any task at hand.

And for that, I am glad.