It was only when my husband informed me that "we" had volunteered to watch our neighbor's rescue dogs while she went out of town that I realized we were living a few doors down from a lush, green respite right on our block.
Resentment over the "we volunteered" part and being bitten on the thumb by the elderly chihuahua was quickly forgotten when I finally coaxed the dogs to the backyard and discovered this.
From that point on, I'd gladly shuffle Old Biter and her brother outside at wee hours in the morning, or rain or shine at night. I'd sit on the concrete path as they circled me in suspicion while I breathed in the greenery. After a while they trusted me and I forgave Old Biter...but not enough to not brand her with Old Biter as a moniker.
That was the same year the daffodils bulbs I planted a nearly a year earlier blossomed..and then died a short while after their all too brief life in the sun came to a close. They looked sad and so did our yard.
I asked Old Biter's mom how she kept her yard lively. Turns out she planted bulbs and seedlings that'd emerge in sequence: a plant blossomed, died and then another would take its place.
In hopes of replicating that cycle this year, my daughter and I took a "field trip" to our local garden center. I whined to the very helpful clerk about the dead and dying daffodils and the need for them to have plants to fill their shoes.
We left with these.
The big ones were big enough to split and then strategically plant among the dead and dying daffodils. As I carefully broke the plants apart (while apologizing, because they are living beings after all), I noticed smaller bulbs straggling at the roots.
These precious bulbs were babies. They promised future plants with the potential for beautifying my backyard like my neighbor's someday.
The thought made me handle them with extra care.
Which got me thinking about people.
In far too many decision-making circles -- whether policy-making, religious, nonprofit or corporate -- the Old Heads don't want to admit their time in the sun is sunsetting and make room for younger voices and views.
As brown children are funneled through a school to prison pipeline; as immigrant families are literally torn apart; as differently-abled folk and chronically sick see their very right to exist under threat; and as a national moral code continues to erode...
I wish...I just wish that for one minute we could see each other as plants with God-given potential for making this planet and this country a more beautiful place.
Perhaps that's what it would take for us to handle lives with extra care.
Resentment over the "we volunteered" part and being bitten on the thumb by the elderly chihuahua was quickly forgotten when I finally coaxed the dogs to the backyard and discovered this.
From that point on, I'd gladly shuffle Old Biter and her brother outside at wee hours in the morning, or rain or shine at night. I'd sit on the concrete path as they circled me in suspicion while I breathed in the greenery. After a while they trusted me and I forgave Old Biter...but not enough to not brand her with Old Biter as a moniker.
That was the same year the daffodils bulbs I planted a nearly a year earlier blossomed..and then died a short while after their all too brief life in the sun came to a close. They looked sad and so did our yard.
I asked Old Biter's mom how she kept her yard lively. Turns out she planted bulbs and seedlings that'd emerge in sequence: a plant blossomed, died and then another would take its place.
In hopes of replicating that cycle this year, my daughter and I took a "field trip" to our local garden center. I whined to the very helpful clerk about the dead and dying daffodils and the need for them to have plants to fill their shoes.
We left with these.
The big ones were big enough to split and then strategically plant among the dead and dying daffodils. As I carefully broke the plants apart (while apologizing, because they are living beings after all), I noticed smaller bulbs straggling at the roots.
These precious bulbs were babies. They promised future plants with the potential for beautifying my backyard like my neighbor's someday.
The thought made me handle them with extra care.
Which got me thinking about people.
In far too many decision-making circles -- whether policy-making, religious, nonprofit or corporate -- the Old Heads don't want to admit their time in the sun is sunsetting and make room for younger voices and views.
As brown children are funneled through a school to prison pipeline; as immigrant families are literally torn apart; as differently-abled folk and chronically sick see their very right to exist under threat; and as a national moral code continues to erode...
I wish...I just wish that for one minute we could see each other as plants with God-given potential for making this planet and this country a more beautiful place.
Perhaps that's what it would take for us to handle lives with extra care.
oh mygood, what a beautiful backyard
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