to the weeds

I wrote about our unmowed back yard over a month ago, and guess what? It still hasn’t been mowed. Oh, my husband has cut the front yard several times since then. (Like Holden’s roomie Stradlater from “Catcher in the Rye,” we’re secret slobs.) And a couple of times I caught Jeff sizing up the back yard afterwards, as if plotting his strategy, but so far… nada. I think the mere idea of it is just too overwhelming now. Kind of like that credit card you didn’t pay on for a few months, and now your debt is crazy-big, so you just kind of… put it out of your mind? But not really? Because you can’t? I think that’s where Jeff is with the back yard.

But it’s not where I am. Not at all. I have grown to love my overgrown back yard. Once I finally gave myself permission to revel in its glorious wildness (no small feat for a high strung WASP) and to stop feeling guilty about my laziness (ditto), I began silently but fervently willing Jeff not to mow my yard.

But fall is coming. Though you can’t yet feel it – Lord, how I wish! – you can see little signs of it everywhere . . . in the bright congregations of butterflies, the changing light and the golden tips of things. As summer passes, I don’t know what will happen to my back yard. I fear its unkempt beauty may soon be brown and haggard and not nearly so … beautiful. Who knows? Jeff may even rise up in a grand burst of autumnal energy and take the mower to it before I get a chance to find out.
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So this morning, I snapped a few pictures to remember it by. There are all these amazing things growing back there – things I’ve never seen in my yard before, and never would have had we been proper grownups and responsible homeowners this summer. Whatever happens next, I’m glad we weren’t. Who knew negligence could be such a delight? Here’s to the weeds of 2014.