Leafblowers are instruments of Satan

My little house sits on the side of a slope; this means that my south facing windows (kitchen, living room and bath) are almost level with the driveway. I like this most of the time because I can have lots of light, but it's also private. Sure, someone could peek in, but they'd have to lean over and be really obvious about it. The top of the windows come to the knees of anyone walking by.

However. Once a week my landlady has the gardeners come by. They don't touch my yard, oh no, but they take care of her areas. This is fine, the less strangers in my space the better, but they still make their presence known.

In the almost two years I've been here, we've had at least 5 different gardeners. They don't do what she wants them to do, or show up when she wants them to... I'm not sure of all the reasons. There's always something wrong. The problem from my side is that I never know when one is going to show up. Maybe at 7:45 on the only Saturday I choose to sleep in, maybe at 6pm when I'm just sitting down to eat my dinner.

I like the sounds of raking and sweeping and clipping; I even enjoy the sound of a power lawn mower. I certainly like the smell of fresh cut grass.

What I don't like is the contraption without a purpose. Yes, the leafblower. The leafblower that all gardeners feel they must use. Several years ago, I lived in a three-story apartment building. I was on the third floor. There were no plants, no leaves on the third floor. Yet every Wednesday the man with the machine on his back would go up and down every one of the outside walkways and blow. What he was blowing, I don't know. Pollen? A button fallen off someone's coat?

Pollution. There are a lot of things considered pollution, but leaves are rarely put into that category. Yes, if they are clogging up your roof drain, they can be irritating, but who doesn't like leaves?

Noise? Yes, that can be considered pollution; there are lots of noises that are not admired or appreciated. Dare I say there are some that are hated? Yes, there are:

The full-throttle scream of a 3-year-old who isn't getting his way in K-Mart. The hawking done right before a sticky stream of spittle hits the sidewalk. Feedback. Nails on a chalkboard. The crunch of metal against metal when you've backed up into another car. Crows outside your window cawing at 5 am.

And yes, the leafblower. I'm sure I'm losing my hearing ability every week I'm subjected to it. No matter how high I turn the volume on the stereo, I can't get away from it. It goes on and on and on. Our driveway is not long enough for the 45 minutes spent blowing pine needles and geranium blossoms that I have to endure. Add to that the dust that is blown up into the air briefly only to settle back down after it has irritated my sinuses and caused my allergies to flare up again. How, oh how is this a productive use of time, gas, energy, anything? Leafblowers don't actually do anything. God I hate them so.

Oh yeah, the windows. Remember? Well, the leafblower, coupled with the level of my windows and the downward slant of the driveway is cause for massive anxiety on my part. I race around, trying to shut the windows (never mind it's 90 degrees) before the crazed instrument can blow debris into my place. Of course, with the random arrival times of our garderners, this isn't always possible. I've come home to a fine layer of grit all over the washed dishes left in the drainer to dry. All because I forgot to close the windows that day.

There was a push in our fine city years ago to ban leafblowers. The city of Santa Barbara did ban them in most places.

Too bad I live in the county.