Leafing It All Behind

Working in the newspaper industry, I hear and read many stories of wayward youth stealing or vandalizing this or that; stories of misspent younger years and such.

Upon hearing such stories I immediately think "they must not have had good trees to climb." For I believe that if a young person (boys especially, but girls as well) has a tree or two to conquer, then the seeming adventure and lure of a life of crime pales in comparison to the thrill of summiting a two-hundred-year-old oak tree and facing death on every branch.

My family saved me from a life in the "big house" by moving into a fantastic (tree speaking) house when I was seven-years-old and gave me the best gift a boy could get by allowing me to climb to my heart's content on the four stately oaks lining our property.

Those oak trees, Big Jim, Little Jim, Beaufort and Old Glory, took me and the other neighborhood kids (another great gift, a neighborhood) a few years and some considerable scrapes and bruises to conquer, but all those hours filled the longing for death-defying feats and adventure.

Also, the fallen leaves from these four beauties could easily fill the Roman Coliseum.

We would pile up the leaves to a second-story height and jump from Little Jim's branches directly into the pile. (These piles somehow always managed to have a small amount of dog poop hidden somewhere in them; another facet of a neighborhood, I guess, lots of dogs.)

I was reminded of these childhood leaf Olympics last week as I tumbled in a glorious pile of leaves with my two young daughters.

Our wonderful old farmhouse has many wonderful, verdant trees lining the property, but somehow the prevailing wind patterns sweep all the leaves far from our yard. This makes for easy lawn maintenance, but it is work to find a good leaf pile.

But it's worth it to run 50 yards down the hill at breakneck speed and long jump into a freshly raked pile of crisp, colorful leaves.

It is a sound and smell that cannot be manufactured or store-bought.

This is the best part of being a parent, in my humble opinion: getting to "play" again.

If you were to see a person my age (34, but with the maturity of a much younger man and the hairline of a much older man) frolicking in the leaves, you might be persuaded to call the police or mental health services, but the moment you see children in the picture it all makes sense.

This is why I'm hoping for grandchildren while I'm still mobile, because it would be sad for Grandpa to fall in the leaves and not be able to get back up again.

Also, they tend to take you away a little quicker at this age.

But I think that would not be a bad way to go out of this world, rolling in the leaves, feeling seven-years-old again.

Does anyone else smell dog poop?