By Sue Murphy
It’s been a long winter for my little not-quite-acre. First, we had the drought, then a few snippets of sub-freeze and thaw. There was a round of evergreen fungus, a little root rot and ravages of the little critters who were just trying to nibble their way through to spring.
Also, after calling, coaxing, pleading with several groups to come and fix our fake pond, we gave up and had the whole thing dug out and filled in, which has been an adjustment for everyone. I was sad when the crew started digging until one particularly shaken workman knocked on the door to warn me about five venomous snakes that had slithered out from under the surrounding rocks. No snakes going forward made me feel a whole lot better.
The birds and squirrels, however, were less enthusiastic. Poor babies, they flitted from one branch to another, cocking their little heads, thinking, “I could have sworn there was water here.” I didn’t know how to explain the transition to them, so in a gesture of goodwill, I scattered Tupperware containers of water around the yard until we could come up with a more permanent solution. It clearly wasn’t the same, although I did see one gleeful squir- rel cavorting in the cracker-keeper.
My yard was no longer a good home for my little critters. Some of their favorite bushes had turned brown and brittle, others were spindly and clearly on their last limb. The little grass we had in the back yard had reverted to mud. The place looked like a scene out of a Twilight movie.
And then, then, the daffodils, God love them, came up right on schedule and their cheerful yellow faces gave me hope that all was not lost. I knew there were hostas and columbines and other perennials sleeping under the soil that might yet stick their green noses up through the mulch, but even with the possibility of such staunch returnees, it was obvious that the yard needed some help. I placed a call to my new landscape professionals and we paced the perimeter together, noting all the carnage, and it soon became clear that the project was going to involve less trowel and more backhoe.
The landscape team spent three full days hauling off the old and planting in the new. They’re not quite done, but already I am breathing a little easier. I didn’t realize it at the time, but looking out at dead leaves and tree stumps was affecting my mojo, or harshing my mellow, or whatever it is that causes you to binge watch “Diners, Drive-ins and Dives” without once getting the urge to drive anywhere and dine on anything.
Every time I pulled into my driveway, I’d think, “I need to do something about that,” and it was making me cranky. Now I have (Good girl, Susan), or rather someone else has and I will be writing them a check, which is OK with me. I’m perfectly willing to let someone else be one with the soil. I’ll be one with the view from my window.
The instant landscaping feels a bit like cheating, kind of like skipping to the end of a book (Once upon a time…and they lived happily ever after), but I’m going to let that go, too. I’ll keep an eye out for my hostas and columbines, though. They’re going to be surprised when they see their new neighbors.
In the meantime, I’ll be on the lookout for a low-maintenance birdbath/squirrel refreshment station. The cracker-keeper isn’t going to keep.
