An excercise in futility

Our lawn tends to be a catch-all for the trash and leaves of the neighbourhood. We have a huge lilac bush between ourselves and the neighbours (it belongs to them and is only trimmed on our side) which catches garbage like honey with flies. I have been staring at it all winter cursing the free range garbage permanently trapped there by the snow banks.

Since the snow has effectively melted, Ky and I decided to rake the front yard. I hate yard work with a passionate hatred of a thousand suns and moons. My parents hated yard work too and as soon as us children were old enough to hold our heads up independently we had a rake in our hands to "help out". I have decided raking is "a man's job". Not because I can't do it, but because I hate it and thus don't want to do it. Raking is a man's job much like I feel dishes and cleaning are.

So, Ky and I spent the worst part of an hour and a half raking and gathering and pulling garbage out of the trees. We were exhausted about three strokes in, but pushed on. Finally we were done, four garbage bags full and nary a leaf in sight. We collapsed in the house and opened the doors and windows to let the spring air come in. It was not even 5 minutes later when a large gust of wind came along. Bringing with it two pieces of newsprint, a McD's cup and half the leaves from every house on the block.

I've decided to tear out the trees, and cover the whole yard in concrete.