I fancy myself a passionate gardener; I love digging in the dirt, experimenting with new plants and battling the many weeds that seem to thrive under any circumstances. The lawn mower, weed eater, rake, and leaf blower are no strangers to me. I love the instant gratification that all of these implements help me achieve. It is quite pleasing as a gardener to look out over a freshly mowed lawn, a weed-free flower garden or a pile of leaves that have just been raked.
My biggest challenge has been maintaining my gardens and lawn while raising four sons, with a dog in the mix. The dog seems to understand, better than the boys, that my gardens are sacred territory. He skirts around the perimeters as he chases rabbits, chipmunks and squirrels. The boys, however, see no boundaries. If a ball goes missing, they have no qualms about trampling through my flower beds, stomping and whacking plants as they go.
Over the years, our yard has been a tell-tale sign of which sport is in season: During football season, we have a dirt strip down the center of the lawn. Spring brings us baseball season with permanent bases in the form of dirt spots. Fortunately, we have a concrete surface for basketball, though we do have to remove snow and ice, because they like shooting hoops, no matter the weather.
I have a shade garden with ferns, hostas and monkey grass that has now become a memorial garden for broken pieces of statuary. Nestled beneath a Hemlock tree next to our patio, we have a collection of bunny ears, angel wings and other pieces of assorted concrete figures, all shattered on the patio by errant balls.
With my three oldest sons in college now, my lawn and gardens have had a reprieve, yet the youngest son tends to wreak more havoc than his older brothers ever did. One spring, I ventured out to my garden to see my peonies, as they were about to bloom. Peonies are among my favorite flowers and I was anticipating their arrival. I was horrified to see that the stems were intact, but all of the buds were gone; it was as if someone had taken scissors and cut the buds off.
I called my husband out to take a look. He suspected that a rabbit was the culprit, but I knew that unless said rabbit was of gigantic proportions, that was not the case.
I began to ponder all of the possibilities until the most likely came to mind. I called my youngest son to join me outside. As we walked along the row of headless peonies, he confessed that he had whacked the buds off with his baseball bat. In the eyes of a then ten-year-old boy, the tall stalks with nicely rounded flower buds resembled baseballs on a tee ball stand. After a brief emotional outburst, I curbed my anger, although I was disappointed as I had no peonies to bring inside.
I laugh about the peony incident now, as one can easily see through the eyes of a young boy how tempting that must have been. Each year as I prepare my flower beds in the spring and clear leaves from them in the fall, I find a treasure trove of balls, reminding me that my lawn and gardens have been a happy haven for my sons and their friends.
By Denise Revercomb [email protected]