A walk around a familiar space: ISPS Life Writing Assignment from February 28: Backyard - Sydney Harris
Today the air is cooler than yesterday. I step through the smudged sliding glass doors onto the aging brown and gray mottled deck which covers half of the backyard. I remember how pleased I was when we had it built 25 years ago. It replaced a hideous tract house cement patio. I was more than pleased, I was proud of our new deck; we ate outside at every opportunity, with friends and extended family. Now my mind conjures images of twisted ankles and falls from the unevenness of the boards. It needs to be repaired and refinished again; my stepfather worked on it 15 years ago and my husband 7 years ago. We regret having chosen redwood planks instead of the more expensive, but sustainable Trek composite boards.
Everything is falling apart, bit by bit. The deck, the house, and the people inside --- my husband & I are in our 70’s, our adult son is languishing in his bedroom. There is so much to do, to maintain and fix. Bit by bit we do as much as we can ourselves. It is not enough. We need to hire others to do this work, but I easily become paralyzed by everything that is involved. What should we prioritize? Who is competent to do the work? Where will the money come from?
From the edge of the deck, I look out on the grassy weeds beginning to cover the flower beds and the pathways around them. Just two months ago, I had labored to clear the fescue, dichondra, and dandelions. Encouraged by the seemingly endless rains, they have returned. After 14 years of drought and decreased water supply, the rains are a gift. This is where I should direct my attention. Positive people do better, the benefits of living as if the glass were half-full, not half-empty. I try, but I am always drawn to the problems, habitual and dark. I used to grow vegetables and berries here, but my attention was drawn elsewhere, trying to restart a career, and launching two sons into the greater world. What else can be expected when attention is withdrawn?
The trees of the perimeter are so overgrown that this section sits mostly in shade and their thick roots invade the compacted clay soil in both beds and paths. It’s hard to imagine having the energy and resolve to recreate a backyard that can nurture the earth and the people who live here.
When my sons were still in elementary school, we hired a landscape architect, Mr. Lee, a reserved Vietnamese refugee who constructed new curved beds. He considered my rectangular double-dug organic beds to be too “farm-like”. I remember being soothed; my own hard edges softened by the new shapes. In reality, they were never fully functional, never deep enough. I also remember my husband demanding that we have space for a golf net and putting mat; it was his condition for making such an investment. Of course, I gave in. My husband and sons loved using the net and I loved hearing their banter. But my
neighbor became distraught when golf balls kept flying into her backyard over the fence. And privately, the net and mat felt like an intrusion on my little oasis.
One remnant of Mr. Lee’s creation remains unmarred. It is a beautiful fountain made of large river rocks that come right to the edge of the deck. The water cascades over several levels landing in an oval pool bordered by more rock. For years I labored to try to keep it clean of algae and dirt. I set potted dwarf cannas into the shallow parts and floated hay balls to filter the water. I drained and vacuumed it every few months. When that didn’t work, I succumbed to adding bleach to the water which smelled and stung the eyes and foamed for days before it cleared. Then I began to neglect it too. My husband took over, he lovingly tends to this waterscape. He is doing a splendid job, and I am grateful. The sound almost drowns out the highway two blocks behind our house. I can sit and gaze and listen and dream, be soothed again and again.
