The color of autumn

The corporate office campus is a jewel of acreage with a deep ravine running down the middle. Much of the property is woods with a wide range of deciduous trees towering high overhead. Each season is unique – the stark black outlines of winter, the blush of pale green that marks early spring, the deep green of summer that blocks the view across the valley, and finally, the blaze of autumn.

Trees mean leaves. Many trees mean many leaves. Many leaves fast become mountains.

Typically, we declare a fall day an outdoor work day for all of the office. Accomplishing a needed task meanwhile gives everyone a day outside that has no resemblance to desks and computers. No one complains. Everyone pitches in and the camaraderie is rich.

We arrive at nine to find an arsenal of rakes, tarps, clippers, trash cans, and the junky old white truck that lives back in the maintenance barn. I join the rakers on the front hill that sweeps up to the treeline and then plummets down the other side to the expressway. We work in pairs, pulling leaves into large piles along the hill.

Across at the front entrance, a group of women are pruning the rose garden and shrubs around the brick walk and little tree planted to honor Tom. Tom’s widow directs the crew. We’ve missed Tom for some years, but we all love the landscaped garden and bench. It’s a good place to quietly sit and think or have a cell phone break outside the office-with-no-walls. This bench hears lots of prayer.

Tending Tom’s garden is fine work, but I stick with the rough leaf crew ankle deep in yellow and orange

After we rake all the leaves into piles, Terry brings the truck. Complete with straw hat, the Minnesota farm boy turned executive is loving today. We pile leaves onto tarps, haul them to the truck, and dump them into the bed. I hop on top of the pile as Terry wings the truck around back to the edge of the ravine, wind in my hair. We dump the contents into the valley of trees and return for another load. The rhythm of the process takes on a life of its own, punctuated with much laughter and jest over who’s working hardest, rakers or haulers.

Inside, another crew is making up boxes of goodies for all the company kids who are in the US for college. With moms living overseas, the office women send a “mom” box each fall that will arrive in time for exam week.

The green grass slowly emerges from the golden carpet. At noon we’ve conquered the leaves and the front garden looks impeccable. We troop down to the dining commons for pizza and salad. “Good job,” says the boss. “Looks like someone lives here now.”

Mission. Accomplished.