耙樹(shù)葉，吹樹(shù)葉

By+Frances+A.+Miller

For 16 autumns I had raked by hand the contributions of my own 12 oak trees plus an assortment of other deciduous beauties，2 and often， after a windy day， my neighbors leaves as well.

Although I cant say I rejoiced to see the leaves begin to drift and tumble around my yard，3 I did enjoy the actual raking. Thumb armored with a heavy-duty bandage before I even took the rake down from its hook， blue tarp ready for loading， Welsh Corgi barking and bouncing enthusiastically around my knees， I would head out to engage the natural world in my annual ritual.4

Raking leaves， like Christmas， has its own storehouse of welcome memories， unleashed each fall by the simple act of taking rake in hand.5 Memories of flinging oneself into giant leaf piles， of the smell of burning leaves， of my California-raised children discovering autumn in the leaves piled high in my Virginia sisters driveway and knowing instinctively what to do.6

Nothing changes over the years. The crinkly paper swish of the rake through the leaves， the dusty nosetickling smell， the swirling colors of fall flying off the end of the rake， and the rhythmic background beat in my head of either—depending on enthusiasm and energy level—“Raindrops Keep Fallin on My Head” or “This Old Man”all are there waiting to be enjoyed again.7

Like those who see themselves as one of two kinds of people in the world （and always， of course， the better of the two）， I had an undeniably superior attitude toward my leaf-blowing neighbors. I pitied them for missing out on all the delights of raking， scorned them for polluting the air with gas fumes， and hated the horrible high-pitched whine that pierced the walls of my house and found its way into my skull.8 In darker moments I wondered if they were purposefully trying to drive me mad.

Last fall I was visiting family and returned home to weeks of accumulated layers of scarlet and gold—20 tarps worth to be loaded and dragged to the curb.9 So， reluctantly， to get the job done before winter， I borrowed a leaf blower. At least it was electric， but even with earplugs10， it was too noisy for singing. The cord tangled around my ankles and grabbed every root and branch it could find.11 The plug pulled out of the blower handle at least once a minute，12 and—worst of all—there were no delight-filled memories. Leaf blowers were never part of my childhood.

My resulting mood could only be described as grouchy13.

But as I settled in， I found a sweeping movement that worked well.14 I learned how to corral the leaping leaves that a casual movement of the blower would unintentionally send racing in undesired directions.15

New images presented themselves： myself as a sheepdog or maybe Babe， the pig， at a sheep-herding trial； a cowboy rounding up a herd of skittish cattle； a scuba diver swimming slowly behind a school of bright-colored tropical fish.16

Noticing a neighbor getting ready to use his blower， I went over to ask for tips on technique and enjoyed a 20-minute conversation with someone Id lived across the street from for five years. Wed exchanged only hellos and waves before. Discovering we were both fans of classic movies， I left promising to exchange DVDs.

At the end of the day， I had two enormous leaf piles on the curb， a totally cleared yard， sore17 arms （but a bandagefree thumb）， and the realization that I had enjoyed myself.

There are two kinds of people in this world： leaf-rakers and leaf-blowers. I thought I was a confirmed leaf-raker， one of the “good guys，” ecologically and nostalgically.18 I saw leaf-blowers as lazy and thoughtless. But now， instead of being firmly in one camp looking down on members of the other， I have somehow become a member of both. So has my neighbor. Yesterday he came over to borrow a rake.

When political signs started going up around the neighborhood， I found myself automatically making rude assumptions about the people who were clearly in the wrong camp. And then I began to wonder what would happen if I walked across the street， rang the bell， and said， “Hi， neighbor.”Could we get acquainted， find some common ground？19 I think its worth a try.

1. raker： 用耙子耙的人，來(lái)自動(dòng)詞rake（耙）。

2. oak： 橡樹(shù)；an assortment of： 各式各樣的；deciduous： 落葉的。

3. rejoice： 感到欣喜；drift： 飄，游蕩；tumble： 墜落，翻滾。

4. 在還沒(méi)從掛鉤上取下耙子之前，我就把拇指包上了耐用的繃帶，備好藍(lán)色防水帆布準(zhǔn)備裝樹(shù)葉用，我的威爾士柯基犬熱切地圍在我膝邊又叫又跳，我即將開(kāi)始這一年一度親近自然世界的儀式。armor： v. 為……裝甲，為……提供防御；heavy-duty： 耐用的；hook： 掛鉤；tarp： 防水帆布。

5. storehouse： 倉(cāng)庫(kù)，喻指“寶庫(kù)”；unleash：放開(kāi)。

6. 那些回憶包括將自己奮力投進(jìn)巨大的落葉堆里、葉子燃燒發(fā)出的氣味，以及我?guī)讉€(gè)在加州長(zhǎng)大的孩子住在弗吉尼亞州我姐姐家時(shí)，在車(chē)道高高的落葉堆里發(fā)現(xiàn)了秋天，并本能地知道做些什么。fling oneself into： 全力投入。

7. 耙子在落葉間發(fā)出的褶皺紙張摩擦般的沙沙聲、讓人鼻子發(fā)癢的灰塵味、在耙子下面飛散的秋日絢彩、在我的腦海里跳動(dòng)的背景樂(lè)節(jié)奏——是《雨點(diǎn)不斷打在我頭上》還是《這位老人》要視乎熱情和精力而定——所有這一切都在等著再次被體驗(yàn)。crinkly： 褶皺的；swish： 刷刷聲，沙沙聲；tickle： 使人發(fā)癢；swirling： 旋轉(zhuǎn)的。

8. miss out on： 錯(cuò)失；scorn： 輕蔑，鄙視；fumes： [復(fù)]（有害或難聞的）煙，氣；high-pitched： 高（尖）聲的；whine：哀鳴；pierce： 刺穿；skull： 頭骨。因?yàn)榇等~機(jī)使用汽油，內(nèi)燃機(jī)燃燒不充分會(huì)產(chǎn)生污染，故作者有此說(shuō)。

9. accumulated： 積攢的，積累的；layer：層；scarlet and gold： 緋紅色和金色（的樹(shù)葉）；curb： 路邊。

10. earplug： 耳塞。

11. （機(jī)器的）細(xì)繩纏在我的腳踝上，繞住它碰到的每一個(gè)樹(shù)根和樹(shù)枝。tangle： 纏結(jié)。

12. plug： 插頭；handle： 把手，柄。

13. grouchy： 有怨氣的，不高興的。

14. settle in： 適應(yīng)，習(xí)慣于；sweeping： 打掃的，清掃的。

15. corral： 把……集合在一起；leaping： 跳躍的；undesired： 不希望的，不想要的。

16. 如今新形象呈現(xiàn)了：我仿佛是嘗試著牧羊的牧羊犬或小豬貝貝，一個(gè)正在把膽小的牛群趕在一起的牛仔，或是一個(gè)戴著水肺、正慢慢游在一群色彩鮮艷的熱帶魚(yú)后面的潛水員。Babe： 源自電影《豬寶貝》（Babe， the Gallant Pig），講述小豬貝貝努力成為一只牧羊豬的故事；sheepherd： 放牧；trial： 嘗試，試驗(yàn)；round up：趕攏，使集中；herd： 獸群，牧群；skittish：膽小的，易受驚的；scuba： 自攜式水下呼吸器，水肺；school： 魚(yú)群。

17. sore： 酸痛的。

18. ecologically： 生態(tài)保護(hù)地；nostalgically： 懷舊地。

19. acquainted： 熟悉的，認(rèn)識(shí)的；common ground： 共同點(diǎn)。