Most folks believe fall comes but once each year, but they are wrong. A long, long time ago on an old familiar street not so far away called Flamingo, fall came not once but twice each year.
The arrival of fall brought something else to Flamingo — little bitty leafhoppers. I should know. A lifetime ago, I was one of many. Impatiently, the kids of Flamingo waited for the first leaf to turn from dark green to red, orange, yellow, or brown and then tumble to the ground. Soon thereafter, the fall fun in our neighborhood began, but only after lots and lots of raking.
Even though our front and back yards were full of trees, my three brothers and I never complained when Dad said, “Go outside and don’t stop raking till all the pine needles, pinecones, and leaves are off the ground.”
Each of us had a rake with our names carved into the wooden handle. We thought that was cool. Being cool wasn’t the real reason why Dad had done it. When a rake turned up broken, he would know whom to blame and make them pay for a new one. Each year only Mark’s rake was found broken. Of course, he denied doing it, but Dad still made him pay.
This happened each of those seven years we lived on Flamingo. That’s been over 50 years ago, and when asked, he still denies breaking any of them. And he’s correct. (But I’d say my rake-breaking actions were more than warranted.)
The raking of our front yard always ended the same way – with a pinecone battle. Our front yard was full of pine trees so keeping the grass clear was a constant problem — for Dad, not for us. Every week we’d rake up huge piles of pine needles and, if we were lucky, a large enough pile of pinecones so we could have a battle.
We’d bag our pinecone “hangernaids” and head to the vacant lot next to Neighbor Thomas’s house. Other kids in our neighborhood like Bubba Hanks, Goofy Steve, Booger, and Ski did the same. Every year countless battles were waged on that vacant lot.
Sure, there were some minor injuries: cuts to faces, arms and legs due to impact with the sharp pinecones, but nothing major like torn ligaments or broken bones.
Those more serious injuries came from leaf hopping. Just how can leaping into a soft pile of leaves cause an injury? When your twin brother secretly places things other than leaves in the middle.
Unlike the front, our back yard was lined with gigantic oak trees. The oaks dropped leaves for months, covering an otherwise green fescue lawn. Raking started the first weekend in October and lasted till Christmas, but again, none of us minded doing all that work.
We knew, at the end of the long day of raking, at the bottom of our back yard, fun was awaiting us. We’d have huge piles of leaves to leap into. Hours and hours of leaf jumping happened in the back of 110 Flamingo Street — along with a few injuries.
The first year, the injury happened to Twin Brother Mark by way of me. After our first of many Saturdays leaf raking, we had three huge piles at the bottom of our hill. It was Mark who encouraged me to run down the hill and dive into the middle pile. Secretly he’d placed presents inside just for me.
Leaves weren’t the only things he raked up. The back yard is where we kept our two dogs. To say I came up not smelling like a rose after jumping into that pile would be an understatement.
Running into the front yard didn’t save him from being bombarded with pinecone “hangernaids.” When I finally ran out of ammunition, he had small cuts all over his arms and legs.
The second year he placed a rock in the middle; the third it was a log. Each year one pile of leaves had a surprise inside. The last year it was a pile of sticks. That’s how my finger got broken.
If asked today, Mark will still deny it was all his handiwork. But I’ll bet he’d be the first of my brothers to volunteer to help rake my back yard.
So just how did we have not one but two falls while we lived on Flamingo? And how did I cut my hand and Big Brother James tear the ligaments in his knee jumping into a big pile of leaves?
Easy. We both jumped off a cliff together. Yes, I know. It’s not one of the smartest things we did, but there was a good reason for the leap.
The vacant lot next to Neighbor Thomas was deemed unbuildable by the developer. Stretching flat from the street 20 feet, the lot suddenly dropped off straight down 30 feet. For the first couple of years living on Flamingo, the bottom of that cliff was the site of our second fall.
My three brothers and I would rake the leaves off our back yard every Saturday, making huge piles. We’d also bag about half of those leaves and carry them down to the vacant lot, storing them for later use. At the first of spring, we’d dump those leaves over the cliff, making a ginormous pile and double-dog-dare anyone to jump.
The second year we lived on Flamingo, James and I took that dare. With a mighty yell, James and I jumped off the cliff and quickly disappeared into the ginormous pile of leaves 30 feet below. The yelling he did flying off the cliff was not nearly as loud as the screaming when he landed on our lost shovels, but not as loud as when I landed and rolled over onto the lost pickaxe.
Other than that jump, and the jumps when Mark placed something into the pile, none of us ever got hurt jumping into a pile of leaves. It was hours of fun after a day worth of hard work. Sadly, a slow drive around our neighborhood last Saturday revealed huge piles of leaves unjumped. Could it be leafhoppers are all now extinct?
Things certainly have changed since living on Flamingo. I no longer jump into piles of leaves raked up by Mark, and I don’t take dares. Not even double-dog ones.
But we do have lots of oak trees in our back yard and it’s getting about that time. Time to start training our two granddaughters, Little One and Sweet Caroline, on how to rake leaves. And just how much fun being a little bitty leafhopper can be, minus all the “surprises” brothers can hide in the middle of the pile. I wonder … do rakes come in pink?
[Rick Ryckeley has been writing stories since 2001. To read more of Rick’s stories, visit his blog: storiesbyrick.wordpress.com.]
