The Yard

My roommate pays a lot more attention to the animals outside than I do. It's a gift of his, to notice all the birds and squirrels and dragonflies. I'm rather uncomfortable with nature and try my best to just get out of it as soon as possible. He, however, allows it to be part of his life.

He noted that lately, animals have been avoiding our yard. We used to have quite a few birds living around us, some squirrels, porch cats, and the like. He's noticed they don't come here as much as they used to. In some cases, like the squirrels, they will avoid our yard to go to others.

It's weird. See, this is after several years of plants dying. We've lost bushes my grandmother had kept alive for years. This used to be a yard of prosperity. My grandparents would plant two gardens every year. There would be snap peas and corn and potatoes and watermelons (and squash, so much squash). She would have flowerbeds full of color and planter boxes with so many things in them. I would see fireflies at night and dragonflies during the day.

There are some places where things still thrive. One front flower bed has a mass of tiger lilies and our little elephant ears. In the Fall, we still get a mass of mums that fall over drunkenly at the other end of the house. Our back flowerbed is full of mint and it serves as an oasis for butterflies, bees, and wasps. There is still color and there is still life.

I'm so strange about this. I don't want to BE outside or near any of this stuff, but at the same time, I want it to still be there. I want it to live and thrive and carry on its little dramas. I guess it's because it makes people I care about very happy.