Last weekend, after a mild rain shower turned my walkway into a swamp, I finally ran out of excuses. I grabbed a ladder, a pair of rubber gloves, and a bucket. It was time to face the sludge. I propped the ladder against the house, trying not to think about how high it suddenly felt. One glance into the gutter told the whole story: a dark, wet, composting ecosystem that had nothing to do with gardening.
The moment I heard that satisfying glug-glug-WOOSH and saw muddy water explode out the bottom—far from the house—I actually cheered. Alone. On a ladder. Neighbors watching. Within an hour, my gutters were flowing freely. That night, another storm rolled in. I stood by the window with a coffee, watching rainwater neatly travel down the downspout, into the extension, and safely away from the house. unblocking my gutters
There are two types of homeowners: those who clean their gutters on a crisp September Saturday, and those who discover they need to—because water is cascading down their front door like a bad amusement park ride. Last weekend, after a mild rain shower turned
I’ve been the second type. For three seasons in a row. I propped the ladder against the house, trying
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to figure out how that tennis ball got on my roof. The best tool I used wasn’t a special gutter scoop—it was an old plastic spoon taped to a stick. Don’t overthink it. Just go unblock your gutters.