Illustration by Alex Deadman-Wylie
First Person is a daily personal piece submitted by readers. Have a story to tell? See our guidelines at tgam.ca/essayguide.
My majestic maple tree stands tall in my backyard getting ready to shed its leaves this fall. I am preparing myself for the enormous task before me – raking the leaves! As any good Ontarian knows, this both loved and hated task is a must-do in autumn.
You see, raking leaves is a workout, a marathon even, especially from an enormous tree. It takes me weeks to gather the leaves. Some are bagged, others cover my garden for the winter. Last year my friend and I raked 40 bags worth in the span of two weeks.
I’ve had friends pitch in and have paid teenagers to help. This year I am going to tackle this task solo. Just me and my tree. And as I embark on this job, I offer myself time to reflect not only on the natural cycle of nature but more so my relationship with my tree.
Let me explain. My maple tree and I have had a tumultuous relationship filled with a spectrum of emotion, from love to disdain. I owe it to my tree to make amends. That’s why I will do the work alone this year.
First Person: My free little library is a connection to my neighbourhood
I used to have three trees in my backyard crowding the maple, and it wasn’t happy. So eventually, after my husband died, I removed the other two. He always said the backyard would be someone else’s problem. But then it became mine. So my maple and I tackled this head on. Once the other two trees came down, it was so happy and so was I. All of a sudden it came to life and took centre stage.
My tree was all alone in the backyard, and I was all alone in my house. I would sit under it looking up at the canopy and reflect on life, the past, present and future. I’ve lived in the house 25 years, and I estimate my tree’s age to be at least double that.
When my son was young and played soccer in the backyard, the tree’s trunk was one side of a goal post, before becoming a hiding spot for hide and seek. What joy it must have felt being part of children’s games.
Then, when my brother-in-law built my deck, making sure to give my tree the space it deserves, it watched for weeks as the wood was laid and the nails were hammered in. He would occasionally stop, sitting under the tree, taking a well deserved break. I would bring him a drink and sandwich, and together, we would thank the tree for its respite against the sun.
All of these memories come rushing back with each stroke of the rake. All of a sudden this onerous task becomes meditative.
First Person: I never expected an old-fashioned roadside motel to become a place of bonding
I remind myself that throughout the seasons, I enjoy my tree’s foliage. It shades my deck, allowing me to entertain in the heat of summer. My large table fits 10 and many guests have commented on my beautiful tree. I always nod in agreement as I do truly love my tree. It gives my backyard a zen feeling. In fact, during a garden tour people commented on how peaceful my backyard was, and I owe all of that to my tree. Sitting under the tree with a book in hand is one of my life’s pleasures.
Even in late spring and early summer when the maple keys come raining down and I curse under my breath at the mess below, I remind myself of the love I have for my beloved. I painstakingly clean the stains from the keys on my table and push my irritation away. After reading Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer, which explores the relationship between humans and nature, my appreciation grows deeper. This is all part of the cycle of life of my tree.
From my upstairs bathroom, I can see the top of my tree and can observe it go through the seasons from another angle. The barren branches of winter get replaced by spring buds, then summer leaves and inevitably yellow leaves about to shed. I even take photos of each season from the window’s view.
Oh yes, yellow leaves mean I need to physically prepare myself. As the rake hits the ground and the leaves are gathered in a pile I think about the many children who would love to jump in that pile. With a smile on my face, I imagine myself doing just that. But then again I would probably break a bone and have more work to do raking up my mess.
Between now and a few weeks from now, I will watch the leaves as they fall one at a time while I prepare myself for the enormous task before me. And as I fill one bag at a time, I will look up at the branches, and whisper thank you. I really do love raking leaves.
Susan Marchiori lives in Waterloo, Ont.