Some people find it hard to get away for a night or two because they have invalid parents, neurotic cats or rambunctious dogs that can't be left behind.

We had a similar situation. Our fecund elms were about dump their spring load.

Four days before we were to leave for Carmel, tiny seed pods began drifting into the back yard. A person ignorant of the elm's life cycle could easily be charmed by the butterfly flutter.

A more worldly person would not be seduced for a microsecond. He would know of the millions more to come, choking lawn, deck and pool like the volcanic ash at Pompeii.

We have a vacation problem, I told Cheryl. The elms are about to unload. As soon as we head out, all hell is going to break loose.

What I know about pool filters would fit on the head of a pin, but I could image the machinery so clogged with pods that the motor would seize up, then burst into flames.

Has this happened to other pool owners? How many have dual 100-year-old elms placed at the exact upwind spot where they can do maximum damage?

In our absence, I got a neighbor to feed the cats and bring in the mail. I didn't have the courage to sign her up for pod combat.

As we drove off for our three-day escape, we left behind a sparkling pool, with a dusting of pods scampering across the deck.

In Carmel, I was free of my usual away-from-home anxieties. I didn't worry about coming home to a house reduced to smoking ruins or the front door left flapping by burglars. Instead, I focused on pods. Over the pounding of the surf, I could hear the pool motor straining to filter the pod sludge that thickened with every gust.

I couldn't get home fast enough. Fortunately, there was no yellow tape across our driveway. Unfortunately, the bottom of the driveway had pod drifts as high as my shoes.

The backyard was vastly worse. The drifts on the deck and porch suggested a late spring snow storm. The pool was pods from sea to shining sea. Not a glimmer of aqua was visible through the seed canopy.

We attacked as a team, Cheryl manning a blower, me a straw broom. It was like herding feathers. Pods spiraled back into the air if you merely looked at them.

Viewing Cheryl through the pod blizzard, I was reminded of popular images of American farmers laid low by the Dust Bowl. Cheryl looked like Ma Joad.

Demucking the pool was a chore. Using a long-handled sweep, I filled half a yard waste toter. Thirty minutes later the pool surface was again white with pods.

It's been like this for days. I battle pods morning, noon and night. The cats have pods in their whiskers. Pods blow under the garage door. We track them into the house.

Things are most spectacular in the early evening when the wind kicks up and blizzard conditions reign. Sure looks like winter to me, Cheryl said at last night's dinner.

Rarely, ever so rarely, the wind will change direction. Instead of swirling toward our pool, pods will tumble toward our neighbor's yard and pool.

I do not restrain myself. The Fergusons are getting a direct hit, I shout, deliriously happy to be enjoying a moment's respite.

Do I feel guilt inflicting pods on an innocent neighbor? Some. I sent our neighbors an e-mail apologizing for the elm abuse.

Neighbor Nancy wrote back in good humor. "The pod situation is HILARIOUS," she said.

She had taken pictures of her 2-year-old niece hunting Easter eggs in what appears to be a snow blizzard, she said. "The only thing that gives it away is she is not in a snowsuit," she said.

Yes, Nancy said, the pods are annoying, but it's not the end of the world. She was sure that her dog's occasional barking was no cup of tea for us.

"I still maintain it is kind of fun to see them swirling all over the place knowing that it is not forever," she said.

Nancy's e-mail was strangely uplifting. Pods. Not forever?

What a glorious thought.

Kevin can be reached at 256-2217 or Napa Valley Register, P.O. Box 150, Napa 94559 or kcourtney@napanews.com