In late April and early May, my mind is abuzz with gardening and landscaping plans. I research plants, dream up color schemes, make lists, haunt garden centers, and chart the hours of sunlight for my new garden—yep, I’m hardcore. In years past when I had a large suburban lot, my focus was on what to do with all that space.
One of our four large gardens in the suburbs
Now that I live in the city and have a very small yard (intentionally), I focus on defensive landscaping—how to create something attractive to camouflage undesirable views, including those of my much closer neighbors’ yards.
Create an inspiring view for my office window.
My current view
What if I had a silver moon clematis growing on a trellis by the garage?
Cover up my neighbor’s deteriorating garage.
Sigh
Maybe a columnar birch would camouflage the neighbor’s garage.
Add native grasses to screen the view of the alley.
John’s new fence adds some privacy.
What if we added clumps of feather reed grass along the fence like this?
In April everything seems possible. By August, it’s all over. But if this year’s plan doesn’t turn out as great I’m picturing, there’s always next year!
[…] No doubt, future tourists leaning across the velvet rope blocking entrance to my office will say, “Ooooh, that’s where Ellen used to write! There’s the honey locust she used to look at while she wrote, and there’s the sad clematis on the too-big trellis—remember her blog about defensive landscaping?” […]
The best part of Antonio’s name change was when Crystel stood up in the courtroom and said, “I want each of you to tell me something you like about me.” She stood confidently, her hand resting on the bar that divided the gallery from the well of the courtroom. She faced the nine people, including Antonio, who came to support his name change. Aunts, Uncles, Antonio and his girlfriend, were sitting with their back against the wall. She pointed to her Aunt Kathy. “Start there.”
This surprised and delighted me. She was asking for what she needed. And, in this moment what she needed was to know that she was as important as Antonio who within minutes would legally be named Juan Jose’.
She didn’t share his need to change her name. Her Guatemalan birth mother had told her that she named her Crystel.
Waiting for the judge.
The birth search and visit report that Jody and I had done in 2011 when her and Antonio were 9 years old said, Mayra (her birth mom) remembered exactly the date of Crystel’s birth. Most birth mothers do not, not for lack of interest but because dates are usually not important in Guatemala. She named her Crystel Rocio. Crystel because: “I felt she was a little fragile thing as crystal, and Rocio (dew in English), because as I was walking the day I gave birth to her, it was cloudy and it had rained during the night, and I saw the leaves with drops of dew on them”.
When Jody and I adopted our children, we felt it was important that we keep the names that they were given at birth. We wanted to honor the birth mothers. At the time we didn’t know what their birth names would be and I fretted if I would be able to pronounce their Guatemalan given names. I refused to name my baby boy even though my social worker said that I could. I didn’t want to give him, one more thing that could be taken away from him. He was already losing his mother.
A few months later, we received the results of Antonio’s birth search. His birth mom, Rosa, was asked if she named Antonio. She said no, that she wanted to name him Juan Jose’ (Juan to honor her father and Jose’ to honor her grandfather), but the adoption people named him Antonio. Her father Juan died in 1982 during the Guatemalan Civil War. It is estimated that at least
5, 000 Mayans in the Rabinal area were massacred in 1981-1982. Rosa is indigenous and belongs to the Mayan Achi ethnia.
Ever since Antonio learned that Rosa wanted to name him Juan Jose’, he felt that was his real name.
Jody and I supported Antonio’s name change, nudged him even. We wanted to honor his heritage and his birth mother. We understood how central a name can be to a person’s identity. Both of us have changed our names.
A door opened. “All rise. This court is now in session. The honorable Judge Bernhardson, presiding.”
Just minutes before, Crystel had each person, including her brother and his girlfriend say something they liked about her.
What I witnessed that afternoon was two 13-year-olds asking for what they needed.
They’ll do well in the world, I thought. If a person can identify and then ask for what they need, they can navigate the road ahead of them. Jody and I have taught our children well.
You certainly have taught them well. And you’re teaching me, too. Today you’ve taught me to be more courageous in asking for what I want. Previously you’ve taught me about forgiveness and perseverance. I appreciate it all.
Periodically, a writers’ group I belong to has a writers’ retreat. This weekend we stayed at The Anderson Center in Red Wing, Minnesota.
It’s an inspiring place—a stately old home set on acres of land with a sculpture garden on the grounds. There’s a sunny library filled with novels, volumes of poetry, memoirs, histories, and art books. Many were written and contributed by the Center’s guests. In each of the bedrooms, there are journals in which previous visitors (including some well-known writers) commented on their stay. Often they mentioned a breakthrough and expressed gratitude for the Great Things they accomplished . . . which was a bit intimidating.
Contemplative view from my window, minus the other treasure hunter
On Saturday morning, I sat at my desk and stared out the window.
Outside, a young guy in a hoodie and camo pants moved among the trees, sweeping a metal detector across the lawn. He squatted, dug up something with a trowel, then repacked the dirt, and smoothed it out.
What could he possibly have found—a bottle cap? A quarter? The Anderson House is nearly 100 years old. Maybe a long buried artifact had worked its way to the surface.
Inside, I too was treasure hunting. I sifted through files, piles of words, scraps of images, mining my mind for a memory or a line to spark inspiration.
We both worked doggedly at our tasks.
I hoped to uncover an idea that would justify my presence there, so I’d feel worthy of the gift of time.
Quickly I covered up that wasps’ nest of self-doubt and tamped down my frustration. Smoothed over my prickly worries. Don’t be so driven. That’s not how inspiration works.
I reminded myself: Just spend the time. Do the work.
What a lovely reflection. And already a good use of your time there. Sad that so many of us (well, me, anyway) don’t allow ourselves that generous space in our daily lives.
Thanks! As writers, we know what it takes, but sometimes we need to remind ourselves to ease up
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9 responses to “Defensive Landscaping”
[…] No doubt, future tourists leaning across the velvet rope blocking entrance to my office will say, “Ooooh, that’s where Ellen used to write! There’s the honey locust she used to look at while she wrote, and there’s the sad clematis on the too-big trellis—remember her blog about defensive landscaping?” […]
[…] via Defensive Landscaping — WordSisters […]
Great ideas, Ellen. Wishing you the best of luck this planting season!
Thanks! In April, I always am so optimistic and believe the plants will actually look like the pictures on the plant ID cards 😉
I know what you mean!
Right now I’m worried that I’m the one with the yard spoiling my neighbor’s view so thanks for the inspiration.
Nah, I’m sure that’s not true . . . unless your garage looks like my neighbor’s!
All good thoughts, Ellen. Fun dreaming.
You’ll have to see how it looks in a few months . . .