Backyard Six Months Later – Sydney Harris
It has been six months since I went out into our backyard with notepad in hand to write about “something I am familiar with”. It was an assignment from our life writing class with Tanya Frank. The writing felt like a watercolor, a muted landscape filled with bittersweet emotion. It felt true.
Now I have returned to our backyard deck to make note of the changes. Once again, I have mostly let the yard fade into the background of our existence. It takes intention to notice, to see, just as it takes intention to do and to tend.
While the rest of the country is experiencing unprecedented weather from heat to hurricanes, I feel protected and almost peaceful here. The paths have bits of weeds and grass growing in them, but nothing like they were in March. I’ve made tremendous progress weeding the vast overgrowth that just five months ago seemed too overwhelming to consider. I planted two dozen marigolds in the three curved beds. Initially they delighted and hinted of promises to come. Alas, they have a short lifespan and need to be replaced. It is one more reminder that everything comes and goes, lives and dies, following the cycles of nature.
One large lemon hangs from a leafless branch of the lemon tree; it is almost ripe enough to pick. Lemons are best if they are left to ripen on the tree but not overripe. Limes, on the other hand, fall off their branches when they are ready, and unlike the green limes in the stores, they turn yellow before this happens. Several years ago, our lemon tree was pruned from the bottom by our adult son who lives with us; this is contrary to the arborist’s custom of pruning from the top. Despite our son’s logical explanation that he was creating room to weed beneath the tree without getting pricked by the thorns, it also seems to be a metaphor for his life. We worried that the lemon tree wouldn’t survive let alone thrive. Despite its misshapen form, the lemon tree branches are now full of leaves and small green lemons. This feels like a metaphor for our relationship with our son.
Tall fescue still needs to be pulled out from around the base of the lemon tree and out from between the leaves of the nearby agapanthus. I turn to inspect the frontmost curved bed with sage and new strawberry plants. Ooh, the strawberries are calling out; they are vibrant with spreading runners, big green leaves, and little white flowers.
Again, my eyes travel the perimeter; I study the stones that I moved away from the fence near the compost bins tucked in an alcove next to our house. At our neighbor’s request I had moved four wheelbarrows full of stones to the area where the raspberries used to grow. My husband teased me as I worked, calling my labor, prison work, but afterward my muscles felt strong and well-used. Now these rocks look like a river intertwined with volunteer ferns. Aah, it is a surprising improvement.
One final glance in this direction; masses of spider webs cover sections of the jade plant under the bedroom window and the too tall trees. I’ve been spraying the yellow orange hibiscus (the last remaining hibiscus of four) with strong steams of water to shoo away the white fly. The hibiscus has spread its branches like a massive butterfly. The pomegranate tree next to it is finally flourishing, full of little red teardrop buds. It leans over the wall into the neighbor’s property, and I wish I could coax it toward us. The pomegranate and the hibiscus draw in the birds and the squirrels to play most mornings. And the adjacent fountain offers them water for bathing and drinking.
Stepping back into the middle of the deck, I take in the avocado tree, the orange tree, and the deck. A couple of months ago my husband replaced one of the rotting boards; a pale redwood board is nestled between the rough gray. Now there are two boards completely missing giving a view to the hard ground beneath. My husband will replace it with a new board soon. It is a huge project because the short supporting planks have also rotted. It will require him to tear out more wood, apply a special filler formula designed for boats to repair and protect the old boards and new.
Between the replacement of one board and the removal of the other I had been taking my students out onto the deck for their Alexander lessons. I was helping them to change stiff, uneven and clomping gaits into light balanced easy strides. Even though there is still so much to be done, I’m no longer wracked with shame. I offered my students mild apologies for the conditions from years of neglect. But they didn’t seem to mind; they appreciated being outside surrounded by green. They were also soothed by the fountain’s sound bath. It was such a lovely change from doing our walking on the sidewalk in front of the house. My students didn’t seem to mind our public display, but I felt self-conscious on their behalf. I look forward to being able to return to the deck to do our lessons.
I also managed to clear the masses of spider plants and fescue under the avocado tree and the in the bed leading to the orange tree. A bit of order is returning. And the avocado is heavy with new little avocados; it looks like it will be a wonderful crop!
This new sketch of our backyard brings a sweet contentment. In place of resistance and pessimism, there is an acceptance of the ebb and flow of life, of change, of the inevitability of aging, and even of some deterioration. Gardening has become another meditation. I no longer need it to be a Better Homes and Garden landscape. My hope is strengthened.
