The Original Smith Park in Charleston was an amazing place to me. It was a quarter acre on a cul-de
-sac, and most of the property was the back yard. There were distinct zones, of hot sun, tall trees, shade garden, an unmowable swamp where we planted a weeping willow, deck surrounded by giant roses, azaleas, the biggest crape myrtle I’ve ever seen, and lots of places for me to tuck in different types of flowers everywhere. It was, quite honestly, more than I could handle by myself, but man, it was beautiful.
I knew that I couldn’t afford as much land when I moved to Colorado. Smith Park West cost roughly 70% more than the other place, but has about 3500 square feet less outdoor space. I wasn’t going to let that get me down, though. I’m more suited to a smaller yard. I can’t do it often, but I’m actually able to mow the grass at this place, as long as I do it in shifts, no more than half at a time. I want one of every sort of tree and flower, and I miss the warmer climate plants I loved so much, that made the old place so lush. I’m learning to embrace the flora that does better out here, like lilacs and cherry trees, columbines and peonies. They’re making up for my azaleas and plumbagos that I left behind.
While I waited to see where we would land in Colorado, I did dream a little about what sort of home I wanted. I didn’t end up with the architectural style or landscaping I imagined, but as I floated in the hot tub this rainy afternoon, I realized that I do have a little of the view I had dreamed of. I remember thinking I wanted some kind of tree that would have bark that was nearly black when it was wet, and leaves that would be bright yellow in the fall. It wasn’t actually in my yard, and it is spring not fall, but my neighbor’s tree that drapes over the shed we salvaged from his yard fits that bill exactly.
I was trying to frame a photo of that view, and it was so humble and plain, with weeds, some nursery pots, and the compost pile inescapable in it. I decided I was totally okay with that. I live a casual life, and I’m not about to pretend otherwise. I remembered leaving my rheumatologist yesterday, and taking in the view from the stoplight, over the abandoned sugar plant. The best views all around here are across industrial areas, like by the recycling center, or the bridge over the train tracks. There are fewer buildings and trees to impede the sight of the mountains.
If I had had my camera while in the hot tub this afternoon, I would have taken a video of the birds who were having way too much fun in the after effects of the rain. They were noisy and rambunctious. Then there was the one who really caught my eye. A little chickadee swooped in and landed on a sign I got from the Garden Deva in Tulsa, that hangs on a fishing line swivel. He hit the corner of my “God bless the freaks” sign, and it spun around in circles, while he rode it three or four times around, like that was his plan all along. It was too cute.
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