Sisyphus by Jamie Kirkpatrick

I think I know how Sisyphus must have felt. You remember Sisyphus, don’t you? In case you don’t, he was the cunning and deceitful King of Ephyra who angered the gods by cheating death—twice, even!—and revealing some secrets belonging exclusively to Zeus. His punishment was harsh: Sisyphus was sentenced to an endlessly repetitive and futile task in the underworld, namely pushing a boulder uphill only to see it roll back down over and over again. Centuries later, Albert Camus, the French absurdist philosopher used Sisyphus as his poster child for the conflict between humanity’s endless search for the inherent meaning of life in a cruel, indifferent, and silent universe.

That’s all well and good, but I relate to Sisyphus not because I have to roll some giant boulder up one of hell’s hills, but rather because I have to rake leaves. As much as I like October, I have to admit that raking and bagging all those leaves detaching themselves from the big old sycamore tree in front of our house is a pain in the you-know-what. Just this morning, I swept the porch and raked the front yard until there was nary a leaf in sight. I went inside to make lunch and by the time I got back to my favorite porch rocker, it looked like I hadn’t done a thing. My wife said, “I thought you were going to rake the yard this morning.” I bit my tongue.

I’m told there is an eco-friendly and low effort alternative to raking leaves: just mulch them. Get out your favorite lawnmower—preferably a battery-powered one—and mince all those dead leaves into a fine mulch that will serve as a natural and organic fertilizer over the winter and make your lawn look beautiful come spring. Now that’s an idea whose time has come! All I need to do is to unsee all those leaves drifting down and give myself the gift of patience. Just one quick session of mulching a week is all it takes. If I could just do that, I would escape my Sisyphean prison and get back to sitting on the porch in peace because, like Sisyphus, I would just be accepting my fate and finding simple joy in the struggle itself.

The trouble is: it’s not that easy. Patience is a virtue I lack. Also, there are some tangential benefits to raking: it’s an old man’s exercise, you can stop to chat with the passersby, and kids find piles of leaves almost irresistible when it comes to jumping. Just ask my grandkids. 

Back across the Bay, there’s a time and method for leaf disposal. You can rake all your leaves to the curb and on an appointed day, the world’s biggest truck comes along and sucks all the leaves into oblivion. The only problem with that solution is if you miss the appointed day, you’re screwed. Believe me, I know.

Back here, I confess I have a love-hate relationship with “my” sycamore. Yes, it provides shade in the summer but over the years, its limbs have grown into menacing appendages hanging over the street, threatening parked cars and pedestrians alike. Last spring, my neighbors and I finally convinced the town to prune old Mr. Sycamore, but now it looks like he needs another haircut ASAP.

In Greek mythology, Sisyphus got exactly what he deserved. Maybe raking leaves is what I deserve. Sigh.

I’ll be right back.

Jamie Kirkpatrick is a writer and photographer who lives with his wife Kat Conley on both sides of the Chesapeake Bay. His editorials and essays have appeared in the Washington Post, the Baltimore Sun, the Philadelphia Inquirer, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, the Washington College Alumni Magazine, and American Cowboy Magazine. He is the author of three novels: “This Salted Soil,” “The Tales of Bismuth,” and “The People Game.” His fourth novel, “The Secret Communion of Redheads,” will be released next month. All his novels are available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Goodreads, and many other platforms. His website is musingjamie.net or visit jamiekirkpatrickauthor.com.