The Devil with Ivy

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I once found a dead raccoon in my leaf pile. But that's not all. A roll of quarters, a cocktail spoon, a pair of loppers. You've probably guessed that this is no ordinary leaf pile. And you're right.

My leaf pile stands five feet tall. The leaves didn't fall from the Heartnut tree overhead. They have been dropped off by the city on their leaf pickup and delivery route. I sign up annually online, and a dump truck load of neighbors' leaves arrive in fall. These mulch my happy tomatoes, berries, and garden paths.

The dead raccoon was a problem. The smell ... oof. Its body had been returning to earth for some time, so bits of it broke off on my pitchfork amidst the leaves. I couldn't always see or track it. Unlike my dog, Rose Cotton. She lit up like she'd found a roll of quarters.

For months, Rosie would find some souvenir of that raccoon in the backyard, roll in it, and then return for love. If I hadn't gotten to washing her that day, I'd warn our guests. She'd shimmy up, her bristly tail wagging, and melt them with her liquid amber eyes. Terriers.

"Don't touch her!" I'd bark. Our guest's hand would hang in mid-air as they gaped at me, perplexed. Rosie would sigh. Foiled again.

You never know what you'll find in a leaf pile. Have you ever gotten a windfall of exactly what you wanted, but ewww—the dead raccoon, too? Not what you bargained for.

My joy practice has helped me to focus on what I want as I let the rest go. I can now embrace the by-products as ... diversity. A little spice in life. A good story.

This year, we got a slew of ivy in our leaf pile. Green ivy, its rootlets seeking ground. Invasive. I gave that a he#% no.

Seda and I pick strands of it from the pile gingerly, sending the ivy back to our city's compost system. It's five times hotter than ours. We're taking no chances.

Whoever sent that Trojan Horse likely had no idea that neighbors would receive it. They probably thought the city just did away with it somehow. More by-products.

"I like to think our neighbors didn't send that out to reproduce intentionally," says Seda.

"For sure," I say. "Thinking that feels so much better than imagining them spawning a takeover, right? Not in my backyard!" We laugh.

It's good to remember that we can choose the happiest version of others' possible intentions. We feel more like our best selves. Giving someone the benefit of the doubt is for our sake as much as theirs.

I thrust my pitchfork into the pile and lift a set of red devil horns with my forkful of leaves. Some smartly dressed five year old maybe had enough of that devilish headband and tossed it on Halloween night.

You never know what you'll find in a leaf pile. Life is more fun when you don't take it personally. Enjoy the spice and discard the ivy. Abundance is everywhere. This is your day.