Vas You Dere, Sharlie?

Back in the days when radio was our source of  home entertainment, there was a vaudeville and burlesque comedian (Jack Pearl) who did a Baron Munchausen routine.  The Baron was prone to wild exaggeration and when his veracity was questioned, would respond, "Vas you dere, Sharlie?"

Now, I could say that I labored for hours in the hot sun, raking a ton of leaves and hedge trimmings into a mountain.  I could say that a strong wind came up from the north and destroyed all my work.  I could say all those things and who would say nay?  After all, vas you dere?  The truth is I worked for about an hour before my back gave out (it seemed like hours), and it was pleasantly warm in the afternoon sun.  I couldn't move a ton of anything, but there were so many leaves, etc., that the mountain (that part was true) had to be raked down the hill in stages.  The strong wind was more of a breeze, and it did blow a lot of the leaves around, providing Pearl with fun as she chased after them, but what are a few more leaves when the entire hillside is covered.  I did finish the job and it looks darned good.  I'm not worried about the mound that I didn't get pushed all the way down the hill.  The turkeys will scatter that for me as they scratch for bugs and stuff in the days to come.

Pearl was particularly energized after napping all day.  She is the self-appointed supervisor on any outside project, but she kept getting distracted yesterday, running here and there but coming back to point out I'd missed a branch or leaf.  She's a hard taskmaster.  Bess, on the other hand, had not felt well all day and had several episodes of sick-up.  She took advantage of the outing to lay in the sun, moving along with the pile of leaves when necessary so as to stay close by.  I was getting pretty worried about her until she finally ate dinner in the early evening and it stayed down.  It must have been a 12-hour bug that had laid her low.  Frank avoids even the word "work," and so had stayed in the house all afternoon.

As I raked across the front of the house, I uncovered daffodils sprouting where I had not planted them.  These renegades were making a break for it, escaping the neatly planted rows up against the wall.  Every year I find daffys that were evidently struck with wanderlust popping up in the most unexpected places.  It's like a treasure hunt for their brilliant gold.

The one section of the front yard that is now bare of leaves is just the tip of the iceberg.  By the time true spring arrives and I finish the job, there will be mountains of leaves that will rival the Alps.  Think I'm exaggerating?  Vas you dere, Sharlie?