This being home, and, dare I say it, stationary, has not been a walk in the park – what with unpacking, figuring out what next and seriously embarking on the dreaded, dreaded job search (I now know what early privateers felt like, but instead of seeking and plundering treasure via the sea and ships, I am searching for professional booty via the internet and my resume), Tim and I have indeed felt stationary, trapped in indecision. Staying at his parent’s house, we run errands between floors and take field trips to the attic office or the kitchen table to check for emails and send out notes. Today, I voyaged into the back yard to rake leaves – and, in doing so, quelled the panic that has been tight in my chest. I attacked the wet, matted leaf carpet with a rake, combing the grass free of acorns, twigs and debris, uncovering tulip buds, and cultivating clean flowerbeds and a quiet mind.
None of my apartments have had true outdoor space, at least not usable outdoor space; more common is a slab of concrete labeled as a rustic patio, or a fenced in couch sized plot of grass with no gate – much a kin to having walls but no door (though, my neighbors with more dainty dogs where able to utilize that space by squeezing their canine companion through the bars. Alas, both our dogs are too hippy). In fact, in my last apartment, I had to walk 5 blocks to get to the closest patch of grass larger than a queen bed – not bad for some cities, I guess. But, over time, and especially when competing stressors intertwine to craft a noose I could hang myself with (in jest, people), I have found myself craving an outdoor space I can nurture. Get dirty in. Play in.
But, it is not realistic to expect most apartment buildings to provide tenant gardens, at least not the ones in my price range. And though private plots within the community are always an option, most I have researched have waiting lists long enough to suggest that while I may not get a plot, my grandchildren will be growing their own produce in my name – and, don’t get me wrong, this is wonderful, because it speaks to the level of interest in gardening, but it also prevents me from planting and pruning. So, what’s a city kid to do?
Get potted plants! Just kidding…though that actually does provide some respite from the play with dirt hankerings. In all seriousness, volunteering with an organization that maintains parks or community gardens allow you to indulge your soil habit in an urban environment. In fact, it is a great resource for amateur gardeners, who are looking to get their hands dirty (sorry, couldn’t help myself) but don’t want the responsibility of being the only person to maintain the space. Case in point, in Louisville, Tim and I volunteered with Olmsted Parks Conservancy, an organization dedicated to enriching the life of everyone in their community by restoring, enhancing and preserving the historic Olmsted-designed parks and parkways. They have a full time team who works diligently on the parks, but also welcome the help of volunteers, especially those who dig eradicating species encroaching the intended plants.
Bundled up, we traverse the park with a full-timer, taking note of the artistry with which Olmsted planned and executed his vision: a vista here, a specific species of tree over there – each scene carried out deliberately, with minor adjustments necessary given the introduction of invasive plants. We found patches of garlic mustard along the paths, and using our fingers, pried the weed (gripping root and all) from the frozen ground. (A side note to all you natural foodists out there – garlic mustard makes a phenomenal pesto, or so I have heard. I encourage you to get weeding and whip some up!). In the afternoon, we became embroiled in a battle with creeping vines, hacking and thwacking at the dense tangle till we freed the surrounding trees from their strangle hold. (No report was given as to whether or not vines make good pesto. Experiment at your leisure).
We played in the dirt. We got dirty. We had physical evidence as to what we had accomplished during our work day – yet there was a greater sense of pride that we were sharing the responsibility with so many other folks, volunteer and otherwise, who work to maintain the parks. It gave me the sense, that though located far away from my home, it would from now on be a piece of my own backyard. Which is quite a step up from a concrete slab, if I may say.
No comments:
Post a Comment