Backyards Can Be an Expression of Personal

Backyards can be an expression of personal taste and creativity. An immaculately manicured lawn and garden expresses sophistication and neatness, while an unruly, unmowed yard replete with wildflowers can entail a free spirit. While it is important to not read too much into the state of a person's backyard, I am proud to admit that mine exists somewhere between these two extremes. Exiting the back door, I step onto a patio enclosed by screens. A frothing Jacuzzi beckons, enveloping me with the scent of chlorine and the promise of relaxation.

The cedar planks of wood beneath my feet trap warmth and comfort every step. I look up at the crawling, sprawling vines that cover the screened-in patio before opening the gate and stepping down onto the lawn. Our backyard is large enough to frolic in: a great expanse of grass allows for lively games. A tremendous tree looms over the house and provides a plethora of nooks and crannies. An explosion of bird song emanates from the massive oak, enunciating life.

The entire tree seems able to fly, so powerful is the sense of flight dwelling therein. In the autumn, the discarded leaves remind me of the passage of time; they whisper their regrets when they fall softly on the moist earth. Having left behind the comforting limbs of their mother, the reds, oranges, and pale yellows crunch beneath my feet. I approach and they yield willingly, but raking them into an acceptable pile consumes energy for the wind fights my motions.

Our yard gently slopes northward, towards a tiny canal that rushes past. Although surrounded by chain-link fencing, our back yard often seems part of the woods at large. The neighbors to the east have two friendly dogs that nudge their noses through the holes in the silver fence. I trot over to greet Scottie and Butch and on the way pass a splattering of baby fruit trees. Planted just last year, they have yet to bear fruit but they reek of promise. One is apple, one apricot, and one plum.

If we head south, a fig tree stands proudly displaying its wares. Plump, beckoning figs still stick to their branches. I gingerly pick one, making sure it is fully ripe. When I bite through its succulent skin I am rewarded with an explosion of seed-laden sugar. My now sticky mouth grins as I complete the circumambulation of the backyard. On the west side of our ample lawn, hedges and blackberry bushes brag about their brambles.

Spanning the entire length of the west fence, the bushes invite me to sample the candy-like treats. Cautiously I reach through the tangles and pick a handful of juicy blackberries; their juice runs all over my hands and stains my palms a deep shade of purple. The sweetness makes my smile broaden, and when I turn to my left I catch the eye of a curious squirrel. He cocks his head and readies himself to run, lest I prove to be an enemy.

The skittish creature leaps away when I make the slightest move, and I follow him around the side of the house. Passing a small tool shed, I squeeze past newly.