This is a photo of my backyard. It appears as if I’m growing metal silos, but there are actually little trees in the center of the metal hoops. I take great pleasure in taking out the compost each day, dumping the slop in a randomly established pile and making the rounds – hello redbud! Hello dogwood! Hello serviceberry! Their tiny leaves unfurling, bright, shiny and tender, like a rug burn reminding you are alive and can hurt whenever you move and your clothes brush against your new, baby skin.
Usually, I’m at peace when I’m walking around. Actually, today, I was feeling slightly overwhelmed for whatever reasons and I was like…I will go walk in my field of metal circles and say hello to my green, leafy friends and try to calm the fuck down. (This is really what I spend my entire life doing, downregulating myself. OMG. so much work.)
Anyways, my pride and joy is (was, actually, foreshadowing) a little oak tree. The only one I was able to grow from bare root – all my other bare root trees failed to leaf out. It was about a foot tall and maybe 2 mm in diameter. I was dreaming of it 250 years hence, when I was no longer here, perhaps the house would no longer be here, perhaps we all will not be here, but somehow the tree would be here. It’s four leaves unfurled to full white oak size despite its tiny stature. I walked up today and did not see the leaves, panicked – I stood there for a long time searching and slowly, unfortunately negating all the downregulating I was doing. I finally saw the little stump. Can you call it a stump if it’s only 2 mm across? I suspect a rabbit? or chipmunk? Whatever can get through a 2 x 4 inch grate opening (not a deer) (sorry for the inconsistent deployment of measurement systems). And then I muttered to myself – the oak was felled by a resident rabbit.
My friend Dave has three sisters. On Mother’s Day, three bouquets arrived on the porch. The first one read “From your favorite daughter”, the second one read, “From your real favorite daughter” and the last one read “From your definitely, undisputed favorite daughter”. Hahaha. I often say to Vince – you are my favorite son. And Vince says back to me – and you are my favorite mom.
Look! A fox! On its way to kill something for breakfast.
