Burning Down the House
Put Me The Fuck Down!

That's exactly right


I got up meaning to write but I don't remember the exact parts of what was floating around loose in there while I was laying so perfectly still. Sometimes it works that way.

Today there is wind and rain and it won't come up much above 45. I was in the driveway anyway, barefoot at 6:30 this morning pulling out the trash and recycling, and like yesterday, didn't seem to notice. Something has shifted somewhere. My body says it's spring.

And I'm not broken or damaged or too far gone to put myself back together. I'm not even sure I'm in all that many pieces. In my backyard, never mind the unnaturalness of the daffodils in the front, the perennials that survive winter after winter, often through complete neglect or abuse are pushing up through the layers of ground cover and the Monkshood, against all oddsgiven its nearly full sun location has clearly taken on more ground. The Digitalis will be somewhere new and interesting or not at all this year and you never know about the Eccinacia. The Jerusalem Artichoke brought back, two small tubers from CG in May, 2011 and never yet harvested in any way competes with the Coneflower and that insipid beloved Morning Glory has finally given up and stopped volunteering itself all over the yard. Time to plant again. And the roses. Have I mentioned the ridiculous roses? I keep depositing them in obscure locations and forgetting and then I'll rescue one, nearly dead, drop it in the ground with some compost, speak nicely and four weeks later I have two feet of new growth and flowers everywhere. Funny how living things don't hold a grudge. They'd far rather be alive than right.

If you keep walking past the perennial and vaguely medicinal beds (There are other things making their way out of the earth) and move back into the original beds which haven't been worked seriously in two years you will find what has become a field of Cilantro, Dill, Tansy and Lemon balm. There are other survivors as well but those are the dominants and there will still be oregano if you know where to look for it and the Alpine Strawberries will probably always be there at the border and there is Calendula that may eventually give the big four a run for their money. Three blueberry bushes that went in mid 2008 do well if kept free of brush and I still find the occasional volunteer nightshade from the great potato or tomato or pepper years. I think the wild lettuce may be done though. Last year what I thought might have been, turned out to be Calendula. Good thing I didn't poison myself.

It doesn't look like much. Oh hell, it looks like a pile of weeds and when the contractors the blip paid to bush cut the backyard came out and bushcut what they weren't supposed to I sat out there and cried my head off; snot running down my face, trying to choke out the words, you don't understand!

That was food out there!

The man looked at me like I was nuts.

It was a freaking jungle, lady and it needed help.

Don't judge me, Monkey! says Cletus. Too late, says most of the world. It's not neat and clean and it isn't the shiny bins at Whole Foods or the neat orderly backyard gardens in the magazines or (I don't actually know who grows those things but take a picture at the end of the year or see if anything comes back on it's own later), and broccoli, I have news for you, doesn't really grow like that. It will scratch you up if you go in there with bare legs and don't watch where you're walking. You will step on something important if you aren't conscious and maybe that's OK but if it says ouch at you, don't be so damn bothered about it. There's nothing wrong here. Tomato plants and butternut squash grow out of the compost and wander halfway across the yard until somebody makes a mistake and cuts a vine but that doesn't seem to make much of a difference.

Things grow wild anyway.

Don't judge me, Monkey.

Here is spring. Looks like grass?


Here is summer. Coming soon if I don't mow it down by mistake. I wouldn't do that.