backyard garden 8.9.13

We’ve been in our new house for six weeks, or maybe for always, given that I don’t really think about living anywhere else.  We (ok *I*) still have just a few boxes to unpack.  We all mostly know where all the kitchen stuff goes.  I’m used to the new sounds (favorite sounds coming from outside are: the neighbor’s dog when it has one of its squeaky toys, the shrill ripply chirps of the hummingbirds that are nearly always out there, the same train whistle I could hear from my old place).  I know how the light comes in the windows at different times of the day.  I’ve finally stopped walking into end tables and dressers, so the bruises on my thighs and upper arms are disappearing.  I can walk to the kitchen in the dark of night for a glass of water. 
We eat outside every night, next to this backyard garden we inherited when we moved in.  It makes me nervous, though, because I’m a terrible gardener with many dead, bitter plants in my wake to prove it.   So far I’m mostly just cutting things back where needed (totally guessing and zenning my way through that part), watering a little every night, adding shells that John’s brought back from dives and rocks the kids painted when they were little.  Clay projects they made in school.  The little fairy statue my brother and sister-in-law gave us back before we had a garden.  I bought one plant at the hardware store, and put it in the ground.  If I can keep it alive and healthy, I’ll bring home more.  But slowly.  My goal is for us to be eating our own tomatoes next summer.  Yellow squash, strawberries, maybe some tarragon.
We didn’t use the yard at the old place very often because it was bordered at the back by a two storey apartment complex and all those windows looking right down on us were a little unnerving.  The yard here is pretty secluded, and quiet.  Having all this good in my life makes me miss my dad even more (he would have been so, so happy for us) and so when I can I go out in the late night or very early morning and stand in the backyard and watch for the International Space Station to go overhead.  It feels like he’s checking in on me, so long as I’m down with suspending reason for just a few minutes.   And I always am.        

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