Thursday, April 26, 2007

This land is your land, this land is my land

The weather in New England has finally turned for the better and I’ve spent as much of the last week in the garden as my unwieldy body would permit. Images from the very many nursery catalogs I now receive are cataloged in my mind for inspiration. (It is amazing how quickly one mail order nursery launches a thousand catalogs and special offers from nationwide sources for shrubs, bulbs and perennials.) While I still have any vigor, I’ve been planting everything I can get my hands on to set the stage for the blooms I’d like to enjoy later in the season when I have my new baby in my arms and little time for much else.

With a yard full of aged flora and hardscape relics, we've been working little by little to improve what we have. To his surprise, Bob has enjoyed tending the new grass in the front yard. He has less enjoyed, but hasn't yet complained about the many trips to the dump required to dispose of the copious lawn and leaf bags brimming with Spring debris. Nor has he complained about my requests for more and more and MORE of the compost the dump so generously makes available for free.

Yesterday while hunched over the front beds digging a trench for lilies, I caught a town police cruiser passing slowly by the house. I didn’t think much of it until he passed again and stopped in the street-- right in front of our house. My initial thought was that a concerned neighbor had called the police to report a very pregnant woman appeared to be lying on the ground. But, rather than jump out to rescue me, the officer simply asked me if this was my home. I thought, perhaps this was a ‘no dig’ day? Insane thoughts raced through my ever law-abiding head. Was I unaware of some New England blue law where earth could not be turned midweek in April? Perhaps this was a sister law to the senseless liquor quotas that still govern where, when and how one can buy a six pack? He cleared up the mystery for me and told me that he grew up in this house; his parents were the first owners some 60 years ago. He talked fondly of the house and I learned that he and his two brothers shared the two kids’ bedrooms upstairs. That they’d all snuck out the north window over what used to be the garage and that his father dug the drainage trench in the basement after the first time it filled with two feet of water. While neither of those thoughts was very comforting, knowing that I had law enforcement looking out for the well-being of my house was. Our meeting was just another way I know this friendly neighborhood and small town are just right for our little family. There’s something reassuring about knowing the ground I dig in and the rooms where we rest were inhabited by happy families who came before us.
Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...