We ran out of leaf bags this weekend.  We bought sixty at the beginning of the season. I had my doubts, even then, whether it would be enough, but I decided after bagging up that many the rest could just sit on the ground until spring. To hell with them.

On Saturday, I put the little angel in the backpack thingie and raked up enormous piles.  I've been hacking away at the leaves since the beginning of October, a little here, a little there.  For some reason, I've been on a bender to get it done before Thanksgiving.  Luck was with me this weekend - since she slept through the night Friday and Saturday (until my beloved STUPIDLY tempted the sleep gods last night, forcing her to scream from 3-5 a.m. this morning - STUPID hubris, DAMN), I did not need naptime and was able to bag another fifteen rounds while she napped.

As I admired the 28 bags lining the Retaining Wall That Almost Took Down My Marriage, it occurred to me how really silly it is to have to bag them up in the first place.  I mean, they are biodegradable.  I know, they kill the grass, blah, blah, but I grew up on a farm where you just burned the dang things or pushed them over the side of the hill or something like that.  Somehow it seemed kind of silly - all that work to pick up things that aren't really hurting anything and will just come back next year anyway.  Silly humans.