My Mother's Landscape

My mother was babysitting Alissa and I walked over and took these pictures. I was going to crop them, to show Liss in her two day a week habitat where she is safe and happy and loved. Then I realized if I cropped I would take out the truth of the photos. My mother is getting older. She forgets things in the yard. A bucket, a spade, a plastic crate she once lugged something in. All these things become part of her landscape. The ivy takes them over and they become dark green undulating lumps of mystery in the yard. Until winter. When the green of summer dies back and the skeletal outlines of these lost things become visible and people can see all the junk in the yard. It is, of course, no worse than most yards in this neighborhood. I found it hard to look at for a very long time.

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Now, sometimes..I see what my mother sees. I see the Honeysuckle creeping up the house, I see Wisteria threatening to pull the porch off, I see tiny tomatoes and marigolds and I smell the Bee Balms lemon perfume. I see cats lazing about and rocking chairs that were never meant to go outside, but they are easily 100 years old. Some are leftover from the orange 70's period. They're still there. I see it through my granddaughters eyes too, for this is my age of generational enlightenment. I see what Summer is. It is ivy covered metal swings, rust shining gold in dappled light and barefoot little girls with dirty pillows taking a shade nap where they find comfort. It is not a bad thing. Maybe I should stop worrying about picking things up. Maybe there's room for me to nap in the old swing if I kick a few cats off.

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Maybe I should spend less time thinking about how things should look and be glad my Mother is still here, sharing her landscape and her world with little barefoot girls.