Libba Wolfe

Libba Wolfe's column appears twice monthly in Extra.

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There's something so satisfying about fall yard chores. A few hours of work can produce dramatic changes in the garden.

When September and October brought rain and cooler days, I sat back and watched as everything leapt into a frenzy of bloom and tangles of lush green. What a pleasure, then, to yank out the mushy brown annuals and trim back the exhausted, cold-damaged perennials. The cleared spaces inspired me to dream up new plans for next year and finish planting a few new shrubs and perennials.

All that garden waste went straight to the compost pile. I'm determined to build my best one ever. I've turned into a leaf maniac.

Two weeks ago I bought an electric leaf vacuum. Man, oh man, am I having a great time now. After my husband got it assembled -- if patient reading of instructions is called for, I'm calling for him -- I could unleash my lust for leaves. My leaves aren't going to the curb. My leaf vac sucks them up, chops them and I'm emptying the bags on the compost heap or in the borders. The leaves I use to mulch borders I'm double chopping so they will decay even faster.

I resisted buying a leaf blower/vac. Raking is such good exercise -- yeah, yeah, yeah. It never ends. I dreamed of the "good old days" when my rosy-cheeked children bundled up and worked in the brisk fresh air. Then I came to my senses and remembered the reality of nagging, threats, complaining and whining. Maybe I didn't need that kind of help.

There is the noise to consider. But my neighborhood is roaring with leaf blowers anyway. Besides, until last week, I had forgotten one of the main benefits of loud yard equipment. I can sing.

My sisters, brother and I all started mowing our big yard by the time we hit the second grade. None of us can carry a tune, but we soon discovered we could belt out our favorites and we couldn't even hear ourselves over the roar of the lawn mower. We felt stage-ready till the mower hit a rock, switched off and the excruciatingly sour chorus of "Hang down your head, Tom Dooley" hung in the air.

I'm reveling in the feeling of power and competence as I pile up the chopped leaves. I've gotten greedy and stretched the extension cord to my neighbor's curbside pile. I vacuumed his driveway. I picked up some bagged leaves up the street to double chop. My compost heap is growing, and I swear to you when that machine is on, I sound EXACTLY like Aretha Franklin.