Worn
There is a tired patch of dirt beneath the swing that hangs in our front yard. It has been trampled and kicked and stomped on until finally no grass grows there. It is a worn-down spot in the middle of what I like to think is a beautiful front yard.
The rest of our space holds long blades of thick green grass around which little bugs crawl and hide and live.
Worms slither and glide up through the earth unless Elias can catch them first. He’ll touch them once, then pull his hand back quickly at their wetness.
Squirrels jump in and around any of the ten trees we have, birds play in our birdbath, and the Red Dog runs back and forth between the trees and the driveway until the kids keel over with laughter.
All of that to play in, plus the long sloping driveway ripe for toddler trucks and tricycles, plus the sidewalk, plus the leaves on the curb, plus the flower beds around the trees and next to the house, still Eli and Lena always choose this place first. This is the bosom of our yard, seemingly lifeless, under-appreciated, and beaten down with love and use.
I look on this patch fondly. It is a mirror to my motherhood. Leaves are splattered around the edges like so many gray hairs peeking through the rest of my mane. It has an unsmooth, uneven shape but it is still beautiful. Sometimes life reaches up and gives birth to more grass making its figure neater and smaller. Other times it just seems to grow more bulky, weightier, and I fret over its size when I shouldn’t.
This raw terrain is at the mercy of the little people who play here. Everything about it is naked. There is no grass to protect it from the cleated heels of a little boy's shoes. Nature knows that. You can find no creepy-crawly things here, and you will not until they have decided it is safe to return.
This little borough of nature just loiters here, conspicuously waiting for its little people to descend upon it and do whatever they will, simply because they can, because it is theirs, because they love this spot. And I wait with it, just as raw and naked, loving them even more, letting them do whatever they will as long as they are laughing. I am just as haggard, just as faded, but happy all the same to be worn with such good use.
The rest of our space holds long blades of thick green grass around which little bugs crawl and hide and live. Worms slither and glide up through the earth unless Elias can catch them first. He’ll touch them once, then pull his hand back quickly at their wetness.
Squirrels jump in and around any of the ten trees we have, birds play in our birdbath, and the Red Dog runs back and forth between the trees and the driveway until the kids keel over with laughter.
All of that to play in, plus the long sloping driveway ripe for toddler trucks and tricycles, plus the sidewalk, plus the leaves on the curb, plus the flower beds around the trees and next to the house, still Eli and Lena always choose this place first. This is the bosom of our yard, seemingly lifeless, under-appreciated, and beaten down with love and use.
I look on this patch fondly. It is a mirror to my motherhood. Leaves are splattered around the edges like so many gray hairs peeking through the rest of my mane. It has an unsmooth, uneven shape but it is still beautiful. Sometimes life reaches up and gives birth to more grass making its figure neater and smaller. Other times it just seems to grow more bulky, weightier, and I fret over its size when I shouldn’t.
This raw terrain is at the mercy of the little people who play here. Everything about it is naked. There is no grass to protect it from the cleated heels of a little boy's shoes. Nature knows that. You can find no creepy-crawly things here, and you will not until they have decided it is safe to return.
This little borough of nature just loiters here, conspicuously waiting for its little people to descend upon it and do whatever they will, simply because they can, because it is theirs, because they love this spot. And I wait with it, just as raw and naked, loving them even more, letting them do whatever they will as long as they are laughing. I am just as haggard, just as faded, but happy all the same to be worn with such good use.
Comments
This really makes me miss our old Texas sized yard. We don't even have a tree big enough to hang a swing from anymore...