Noise is known to cause long-term health effects. Studies have found the loud, low-frequency growl poses risks to workers’ hearing and carries over long distances. I couldn’t find any research on the prevalence of asthma and lung disease in gardeners who use gas blowers, but I bet it’s relatively high.īlowers also send all kinds of gross stuff into the air: mold, fungus spores, pollen, insect eggs, heavy metals, animal feces and fertilizer products.Īnd, did I mention they are unbelievably loud? In 2019, the Atlantic’s James Fallows noted that the gas-powered leaf blower’s two-stroke engine is “ a piece of obsolete machinery … it sloshes together a mixture of gasoline and oil in the combustion chamber, then spews out as much as one-third of that fuel as an unburned aerosol.” That aerosol contains three top carcinogenic compounds: benzene, butadiene and formaldehyde. And the City Council agreed to weaken the penalties. The hunger strike ended peacefully after city officials promised in writing to help find legal substitutes for the ubiquitous gas-guzzling machines. They drew hundreds of supporters, who chanted “ Si, se puede!” and carried signs reading “We have a right to make a living!” On the lawn of City Hall, more than a dozen gardeners launched a seven-day hunger strike. of Latin American Gardeners of Los Angeles to fight it. The initial ordinance - mandating $1,000 fines and up to six months in jail, was so harsh it ignited a grass-roots uprising among the city’s mostly Latino gardeners. Why are these things still in use? Years ago, in the late 1990s, Los Angeles banned gas-powered leaf blowers. Until they leave, I can’t talk on the phone, listen to the radio or hear myself think. The men wear noise-canceling headphones and masks, and yell to make themselves heard over the roar. Every Friday, a two-man crew descends, toting an earsplitting blower. A few small saplings line the fence between our homes, and there is a lovely bougainvillea on the other side. On the other side is a single-family home with a postage-stamp-sized frontyard. God help me if I forget to close the windows.
There are no leaves to speak of, so every Monday the gardener reverse-vacuums the ground-floor parking garage, blowing dust, sand, cigarette butts and other debris toward my house. The only “landscape,” if you can call it that, consists of a carpet of small white rocks with a few spindly palms bordered by a low hedge. On the property next door, an apartment house, there are exactly zero leafy trees. And every week, without fail, their men arrive armed with leaf blowers, swinging them like, um, elephant trunks and shattering my nerves. I don’t have a gardener, but I am surrounded by neighbors who do. If a genie gave me three wishes, I swear I would ask for world peace, universal healthcare and the demise of gas-powered leaf blowers.
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