The trouble with autumn in Paddington is...

Rituals: the Seasons

We have a tree over the back of our place. It’s massive. I concede it’s beautiful, but I have a love-hate relationship with it. Not being a tree expert, I am fairly certain it's a liquidambar, also known as a sweetgum. It’s native to North America.

In the summer, the gorgeous green canopy provides a nice shade for some of the day over our back courtyard. And, very early in autumn, the leaves turn orange and red almost overnight. That’s where the ‘love’ comes in.

But, by mid-autumn, that massive bugger begins losing Every. Single. Leaf. I don’t mean it loses some leaves. I mean it loses the lot. And every year is the same old story. And this is how it goes.

I’ll be sitting at work one day in the early autumn and my wife will send me a photo of the beautiful green tree, but she'll zoom in on one leaf that has turned red. There’ll be no comment attached. She loves that tree, and loves it to death when it turns red.

She knows exactly what will happen every year when she presses send on the photo. That I’ll sit there looking at it, dreading what’s coming: an almighty downfall on our back courtyard that needs twice-daily sweeps with the big broom to stay on top of it. Leaving it for the weekend doesn't cut it. There will simply be too many.

And the downfall lasts about four to five weeks. They just keep coming and coming. Non-stop. As you sweep them up, they fall down on you. How can one tree have so many leaves? It’s not possible.

The problem is compounded when the old mates miss your green bin during the Monday morning pick-up.

“Oh no, what will we do? I can’t fit any more in. They have to come back. This is a disaster.”

All of this carry on amuses my wife no end. But she doesn’t get it. If you don’t stay on top of those red buggers, and then it rains, well ... The back pavers will all be stained as the water brings out the red from those suckers.

Sometimes the first words uttered in our house on a crisp autumn morning are: “Oh my God, it rained last night. What a nightmare.”

My wife will say: “It doesn’t really matter, a little stain.”

And I go: “Yes it does. The Kennards closed down on Oxford St so they can build apartments and I can’t hire the high-pressure hose from there anymore, which I got for years, so now I can’t get the stains out. And if you think a Bunnings Gerni will do the job then you're sadly mistaken and you know nothing about liquidambar leaf stains on back pavers."

Anyway, it may be a First World problem, but it’s my problem. And I embrace it — it’s part of the cycle of the seasons, part of the rhythm of the year living in a Paddington terrace as the seasons come and go.

The tree is totally bare now. It’s resting, and so am I. We’ll do battle again in April and May next year. I'll even laugh when my wife sends the photo.