The Yard

The Yard languished, untended, yearning for the healing touch of the "keepers," the gentle-couple who, a over half a century before, emerged from the new home it surrounded and began an annual ritual of planting, seeding, pruning and weeding. The Yard did not know that the pair who came as newlyweds and raised four children were never to return, only that a melancholy quiescence hung over the property. It did not know the "he" who once held court over the fireplace, now concealed in the overgrowth, had been taken to a tending place, and "she," maven of the roses and azaleas, now lived with the one of the grown girl-children who used to romp amongst the greenery and scale its tall pines.

It had been two springs since the Yard had been nurtured, and all that could be heard from the house was the occasional murmurings of strangers arriving and departing. It missed the sounds of the world it had known -- the wailing of new babies; children squealing and laughing; teenagers claiming their territory with loud music; parents reclaiming their territory, yelling "turn that racket down." It missed the sounds of family meals, picnics and winter parties with horns and fireworks and clinking glasses, the children running on the frozen lawn, banging pots with wooden spoons.

And where had all the familiar sensations gone? Where were the barefoot, giggling toddlers who snuggled their toes in the cool grass of a hot August afternoon? Where were the horseshoe pegs and baseball mounds the lawn sacrificed itself to because it gave the exuberant boy-children such joy? Where were the soft breezes of billowing sheets that stirred the new grass? Where were the high-heeled woman-children, poking tiny holes in the soft spring earth as they posed in formals, and later in wedding gowns, before the rainbow of azaleas in May?

A day finally came, just after leaf-shedding season, when a huge truck pulled up and a great commotion ensued. Voices were occasionally heard, but then the snows came and silence fell once more.

And then, on a bright morning when the snows had stopped and the earth thawed, a woman entered the Yard and strolled through the undergrowth. The back door slammed and a man followed, carting rakes, pruners and shovels. The new tenders surveyed their domain: overhanging pines, wildly burgeoning lilacs, overgrown azalea and rhododendron. Unruly, rambling ivies and ferns created a jungle-like milieu, tangling over, under and between the trees and untamed bushes. Two seasons of decomposed leaves and old flowerings blanketed a once verdant turf.

"Well," the man said, dropping his tools and startling the Yard. "We wanted a yard. Let's get to work."

The bemused Yard enjoyed the back-scratching as the new tenders raked the two-year mat of vegetation into large piles, and took a deep, refreshing breath as the oppressive weight of rotted mulch was removed, revealing the spring's first crocus, daffodil and tulip shoots. And the new tenders, like Dorothy crawling through the Enchanted Forest and finding the Tin Man, eventually discovered the Yard's hidden treasure. "My gosh, there's a fireplace back here!" exclaimed the woman.

The Yard smiled, remembering the day the old tender had hauled out the hod, cement and bricks, when the house was new, the now tall, overhanging trees still saplings.

For the rest of the day, the Yard accepted their ministrations. Just before dusk, the woman stood up and stretched her aching muscles. "Well, if you want dinner, it's time for the swing shift." Disappearing into the house, she was soon replaced by ... why ... could it be? A half-grown girl child!

Soon, the aroma of simmering food wafted and the clanking of pots sounded from the open windows. Banter between the man and the girl-child floated over the Yard. "I'll give you five dollars to bag these piles," he offered. "What?! You're nuts! You don't expect me to bag all that rot by myself for five bucks?!" she balked. "Don't you need money for your prom?" he replied.

A prom! The Yard exalted.

"Hey, look over there," he pointed. A girlish squeal rang through the Yard as she turned and saw. "Oh, wow, a barbecue. Awesome! Can I have a picnic? Pleeeeasse?" she pleaded.

Yes, yes, the Yard silently pleaded. A picnic!

Soon, leaf bags lined the property's border and a new baby white pine had been introduced to the Yard. Just as the man and girl-child tied the last bag, the woman peeked out the door. "It's food!"

The Yard was alone again, but the cheerful chitchat of a family dinner, followed by the clattering of clean-up, drifted from the windows, sounds the Yard had sorely missed.

Balmy warmth flooded the ground as the last rays of afternoon sun caressed it, a moldering blanket no longer smothering the Yard. Just before dark, the new keepers came out to survey the fruit of their labors. "I'll seed the grass and fertilize next week," he said.

The Yard beamed. Nourishment! Thank you! "You said you'd cement the loose laundry poles next week."

Ahhh!...the Yard sighed."Okay, that, too." They walked back to the house, their voices fading. "Yeah, but these weeds still have to go," she said. "Weeds!" he exclaimed. "That's ground ivy! It keeps the cellar from flooding." "When can I have my picnic?" the girl-child yelled from her bedroom window. "Get back in there and make your room look half as good as this Yard and we'll talk about it," the woman answered. "And turn down that radio."

The Yard snickered. Pausing on the steps, the woman turned to the man. "You know, I was kind of thinking about a housewarming picnic. My sisters' kids will love this place.... "

Squealing, running, jumping children....! It was more than the Yard had hoped! The new "keepers" took one more look, the door shut one last time, and darkness fell.

And the Yard, no longer neglected, its spirits renewed, rejoiced.